ribs imploding;
break my wrists, too,
why don't you,
because I know desire says
"grip tighter,
claim again and never let go."

I won't fight to hard,
I promise…
but you don't have to listen—
I know you're wary
of what I stand for,
that past haunting of lost love,
what would be
if things were different.

Tie me up with languid promises
if it suits you better;
nothing like nostalgia
to hold me in contempt,
aspersions cast upon my person
by an undeserving waif
such as I.

But I can't tell you that I lied.