I made a copy of my keys for you.
Learning how to say sorry in a lot of silence.
Made an encyclopedia set out of between your lines,
Profound promises I still refuse to keep.
I keep all your love letters
Lest they let me forget
My body was your garbage dump, pink matter a boxing glove.
No, if it has more than two words
It’s in a clear plastic box in my closet
That matches the one I keep
My sex stuff in,
Perfect masturbatoty set.
I’m looking for settlement
But we never ironed out how divorce clauses
Don’t cover still dreaming I’ll wake up in your room.
Lungs gather moss when damp with your dew
And I can’t imagine a summer in air conditioning
And your knuckles have met new people’s jaws
And when did we let it get fucked up?
When did you decide to read this poem?
Can you chart it on a linear timeline
So I can compare it to my stretch marks?
Did I ever tell you
You’re still my heart,
I just keep you in a box–
I guess I just did.
How is your brother doing?
Are you better at sleeping sound?
Too many questions for someone who
Thinks so little of what I have to say.
But I am springing up!
Maybe one day I’ll grow enough to wrap around
The fingers of your left hand,
My own neck. Fold this into your wallet
Or replace the poem I once framed for you.
It should inspire some emotion
That I am still dying from your love.