You both begin with quieter love,
when you almost touch her blouse,
I watch you watch her small eyes.
Love her love her love her
smoky skin, matted hair,
one eyelash on a crystal tear.
Who can predict the future?
She brings your lone key to you,
your breath is liquor and night.
“Leave me now or move back in.”
You breathe and scream the former.
Her faded lips, paper hands
say nothing new to you,
and you don’t know how to read.
Would you believe me if I told you
I knew from the beginning?
Her papery hand against her face told me in its paleness
I watched the creases deepen at the corners of her eyes and heart.
I could hear the period in that voice
like a gunshot to that sentence,
like gritty concrete filling all the spaces:
“I don’t love her anymore.”
you are screaming at me now
in a quiet, painful, dark brown voice
Convince me you’ll dissolve tomorrow
take your pair of sharpest scissors and cut yourself
so we stop bleeding
It’s easier to love you when your face is but
a tissue memory.