sword stuck stomachs,
we are drifting into a tide
of something with an aftertaste
hinting of shame, of nights of
reaching out and not finding
you. god, i am trying,
believe me i am trying,
but you looped my lungs around
your left index finger and put
yourself in charge of the labor
of my breaths and I am
here
here
hopelessly here,
glued to the blue of your eyes
and trying to capture every word
as they slip from your mouth.