cut

i listen to you talk in fragmented words and scissored thoughts
i listen to you talk with a burnt throat and sewn lips

i watch you break with a knitted pattern and a slow fall.

to the end

i dream of you in colors
left unseen by light
and abandoned by the
reflections of us

i don't know.

let me cry.

I cried during Brokeback Mountain.

Shit.

at the end of the road

the aftermath is always subtle
slipping under our fingertips
and caressing the wind