I milk your improbable moats,
the borders flailing around your inundated head.
Dying occurs in stages, like grief.
Dying begins and ends with retreat.
–
Your eyes fill me with dysphoria
and sunken ships leagues beneath their peak.
If only we could be happier with ourselves.
–
Your aglet penetrates my eyelet,
a clever stitch that accounts for the passage of air.
Does your blood run cold when looking in the mirror?
A veneer like flypaper, intimacy attaches names and faces
to crimes that occur exclusively within.
–
Do I terrorize you? My questions resonating
like tinnitus in your keen ear. I could ruin you,
I could leave. I have no desire to do either
but convincing you has proven beyond my power.
–
I’ll believe for the both of us, some days that’s what
love is. Some days are impossible and others
improbable but each and every one of them
worth saving and in a pinch we can use
our collective baggage to start a fire.
mindlovemisery 