covered in hot water & onslaught.
my organs shattered somewhere
around 1 am.
I wanted to skin myself to get rid
of your fingertips and view the collateral
but I didn’t want to be seen in public
either.
I sat cross-legged
under the shower
for twenty five minutes
to steam some of it out.
you would have said it was wasteful.
I usually go to bed by nine pm

swathed in cheap sheets, tortured
with absent flowers, cold feet,
lamp on next to me and
wax all over the unfinished table
you were making
before I threw the chair you had finished
down the stairs to get you to
open up
a bit.
it’s heavy;
my tongue flush with
little darted lullabies.

I’m up now and I
linger
in the hallway,
nothing in my hand
or my throat,
watching the front window,
voice hushed and brusque
and barely noticeable
when I finally move to speak,
like low tide,
like you,

your sudden
midnight
retreat.

“February”

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