I could lay my head down
and sleep like the mad;
I could unglue every thought of you
if I must.
The way you unfurl at me, unfurl and unfurl
like a thick houseplant choking my room;
I can't dream in here, with you, there is no air. You speak;
have gorged themselves on me.
The audacity of you
to see me in your light,
incandescence of a different kind.
Spots left on my forearm
from your white-hot grip, they fade
again, I've been overcome.
....Have I stared too long
into the light? Everywhere I look,
you are an after-image.
I hate how I mimic
the swing of your arm when you're drunk,
all your elated moments stretched over me like
the skin of a balloon, tight and bloodless.
I am itching to burst;
I can not look at your image
You mustn't leave me
...this ritual of examination
of the pupils on the other side.
Tenderfooting, I scrape the fragments
from my heels
when we break.
I have grit the danger to dust.
Looking, is it glass or salt?
My tongue bleeds
one shade of salty red.
You back into your hiding place,