what if you were the architect
and i was just the dreamer, dissociative,
passing seamlessly through the clumsiest portions
of someone’s mind
and we were both cubists
kissing ourselves when we were
supposed to be in love
the confusion came easily when i
in your eyes was no different from you
and a talk was the same as a touch
if you were standing in my way i
could always step around you and thus
be right back where i started with my hands
always on my own throat, always