Take a tumble from
head to heart;
your curiosity is tripped up
by the subtle rifts in
my language –
the jagged pavement that
makes the road from me
to you
unbearable, like the sound
of a punctured lung
under a beating heart,
still,
I walk the lines in silence;
you have cried enough
for me.
Smoke eats at the corners of my vision;
I can taste
your fear, but
the salt in my mouth
is my own craving,
drying me from the inside
out,
until I am a hand,
full of dust at your uncertain feet.
This love is the gruesome art
of destruction,
and we’re shadow-boxed, you and I,
hung on the wall
reserved for dreams that
do not exist.