the television blares with what you could have been,
soft and delicate or rough and bare.
i couldn't tell if you longed to have those features
swell with fierce magnitudes.

i turned to you, gave you some kind of initiation,
to graze the surface of what this was and what could have been.

whether it held proof or pure fabrications,
i swallowed the facts and liquid courage to
stumble out onto your doorstep.

I emptied my thoughts as you held my hair back,
but it didn't provide much of a conversation.

as i felt the words claw up my throat,
i took another sip on the way back to your room
to let my dignity build back up again.