we slammed together, strong and heady. each syllable still swells but they’re empty, confined to the monuments of togetherness that tremble with threats and nests of hornets whose mossy silhouettes (fore)shadow the sun. insecure, soft. i keep the rabble to myself; my words are frequent trespassers on his delicate lips, making their acquaintance like whores, nestling in the furrows of hypocritical sighs. i don’t have the liberty of fixation anymore.

i descend into the decadence of an ideal, whispering from miles across the desert of a month, but i dig both feet in the ground (crack, twist). the aftershock will knock me from here straight to the grave. i’m not a piece, i’m not an original, i’m transfixed with degrading claims and fragments of imagined contact. i have never known the assault of your gaze nor the excess of your misgivings but i can show you how two halves of a heartbreak can make a whole.

i’ve given up any semblance of neutrality, staggering from his melting body to find that once the soul is released it’s gone forever. where’s the merit in responsibility? where’s the sensibility of sense? i’ve forgotten the carefree days, but i’ve found that freedom is a formality and the terror of imprisonment keeps me resentfully cozy. innocence left forever with the afternoon: we’re left to struggle through the whims of stasis. there is no in-between. i might know you soon. i don’t know who he is anymore.