wallow

We are so tumbled together now that no amount of laundering will extricate your thoughts from my own. But we are a poor match, you and I, a harlequin of half-moons and born-again stars and a heart whose chambers spew honey and chalk: a morass of molasses cured with the light of mendacity.

I want to be in love again instead of waiting for winter to break and a seismic shift to realign us. February has carried over. Every month is shorter and labored, every week thus hastened and our breath gored by the horns of day's passing.

& we no longer have the time to watch passers-by, into the night steal or call out reflections from the lake. i want to be forgotten again, a wisp. at night i cannot sleep; my bones become a furnace & blind calamity yearns for warmth these evenings so i crawl into the bathtub and make myself smaller & smaller til i am nothing at all.