is almost like sinking to
the bottom of the ocean,
except we're both still
standing on the edge of the
boat, too afraid to jump in.
Absolution, you said,
digging your blue-black painted toe-
nails into the wood. Later I
picked out the splinters
because I wanted to be the only
thing that hurt you.
The sun is white, obtrusive,
drawing patterns across your skin as
we lay beside each other some-
where, not touch-
ing, never touch-
It is the pen I don't hold carefully
the ink I've smeared on the backs
of my hands as I write ghost letters to your
casket and throw them at
the wall. Open your eyes.
open your eyes.
The room is a room is a dark
you are on the other side, around cigarette
smoke and too much tequila
and not enough whine in your voice.
I move toward you,
slug-like slow, and the light
doesn't float like it should. It sits in the corner,
format inspired by richard siken.