Honestly, we should speak
as if our tongues lay along
a razor’s edge, and each side
step in the dance we play
glistens the floor with blood.
Memory shimmers, translucent
and porous, dragging stoically
through you, as if it were a net,
you the sea, and I, hapless,
caught from within your heart.
So much is left behind, let go;
I don’t know what to say anymore
than I did before, but have less
faith it matters if you knew, or know,
how much I was in love with you.
(February 3, 2015)
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