Drunk again. You do the math. You wanted
happiness and I can't blame you for that. I wanted
to tell this story without having to confess
the water stains on the ceiling remind me
of shedding your clothes.
Darling, I gave you my hands. I gave you
my truer self on a platter and in return you
gave me nothing. I remember a night when
the air tasted of gravel and you told me
it didn't matter, you wanted to keep
talking about something
until the dawn broke through. Somehow we
pulled it all together to watch
sunlight bleed over trees.
Tonight I follow your logic as a stranger in a small town
probing your assertions like in-lines on a map.
I farm the spaces of your body for something familiar.
I chase you into the street. I search
the parking lot for your car
but your headlights never show.
Your lips move and I can't
hear what you're saying.
The sun falls in around your hair.