You are what you are, broken – violent – angry and, yes sure, resilient. But against what, oh we don’t say.
I am nothing but a moth alighting on your arm. Brush my dust off and dust me away. I sweep under your rug so easily.
Is this ring around my finger burning marks in the lines beside my eyes? Drawing lines down from these permanent frowning lines to make meaningful hashtags across the cross-hatches of my ribs?
Is this what cracking up feels like? Slipping loose on the lies and wires, letting go and letting fall and fail all the weak pathetic snatches of dreams we thought, for a brief moment back there, we were dreaming together.
Oh, but love. I’m awake now.
Time to start digging ourselves a couple of holes.
Holes from gunshots and wounds from shovels digging into clay and stone and sand.
We’re breaking the best moments, shattering the glasses and scattering the descant stars like new beginnings against the backs of our eyes.
I’ve got a candle and a lighter to set you alight.
Still want to get close?