this warmth that blooms and bleeds
will fade and I'd sooner shutter my heart
than shudder at the loss.
The haze, these ghosts
that spit and splinter my thoughts,
but I am unarmed.
I am only assuring
my balloons don't live to haunt,
to shrivel and screech through guts.
The ribbons are tied
they are airtight
round my wrist till it's white
I crave your cream-colored oblivion
I only stagger into blackness
with the guilt of desertion.