[omitted]

[Split Eight]

-while we laugh at your roommate moping over her ex
addicted to intimacy, imprisoned by space,
it's sad that I omitted that I've been in her place;
when
someday, I'd be admitting that I'd been in your place.
every caution we'd protested would be thrown in our face,
it's hard to be close, and it's hard to see closeness
as you pass into closure. just deride then disown her,
divine into that. confided in facts to survive it, intact..

again and again, I find that I arrive at the past.
siphoning apartment ambrosia, wine in a bag,
after bars and some potion and those vampire bats
who hang on your words' cursive exposure,
eyes inked in black, and in the silence of that/
in which I only exist in one place
and it's us and it's fine & I fit in your frame
no cropping, adjusting or fucking with colors and shades
the highs, lows/ treble & bass, but I don't sweat the particular phrase
cause as it sounds right to me, I don't know how to word or explain
why it's lost it's appeal. it's like something's suddenly unperfect
unveiled/ unbridled/ untapped and I felt it's a crime
or some kind of cosmic injustice, requiring constant adjustment.
in case perhaps I find it unjust & rewind into think
the kind that can leave you with the silence that sinks
maybe someday i'll design an unease that can fit
beside the belief that I'd believed in that shit