[Split Eight]

gap year.

i'm happy to provide civil camaraderie. sympathy. saddle me with the baggage.
sit & be sad with me.
depict me the anatomy of your body of work,
ink blots, like inch marks, on the thin of your door-
height vs height vs height
Rorschach's most intimate form,
morse code, followed by three dots,
type and untype til you decide what to write.
call it amnesia. i'm beside you tonight
wondering again why our lives are so little alike.
you're rambling on. the coffee grows bitter.
even though there's no touch of warmth left,
our hands cuddle our mugs like corsets:
the lace drawn into shallow breath,
face down in the shallow end,
float on like a dead man.
I can't stay long. old haunts,
fit like an old glove that was secondhand.
coals drawn, settled back, we watched
as the fire fought behind the mantle's glass.