It's too much to keep
you stitched to my skin
like a tattoo

the scar carved out
of flesh, raised, and when
I reach my palm across
it I can still
trace the lineage
of our kiss

there, unbroken.

It's too much to
remember how
our spooning
was interrupted
by a lizard shimmying
up the drain pipe in
the shower,

too much to see it as
an omen.

The burnt edges
collapsing like
a frail misstep;

I suppose I mistook you
all along.

It must have been
an hallucinogenic misfortune
birthed from too much pain,

a circumstantial ending
devoid of conclusion.