5

I'm sorry you have to be around for this
to witness the slow decay, the quick undoing,
the immediate unraveling of a mummified personship --
or entity, or other. Us. The sudden, the brisk
misfortune, the altogether swept under the rug,
the haphazardly thrown into the closet
of us. The horrible, the failed discretion, the vain
attempts to keep things casual, to achieve the simple,
to be civil and mature and keep the Id at bay, to not
demand answers or explanations or more. To settle
for less than what you deserve

for now.

I'm sorry you have to be around for this
to witness what I'm like when I like the like
that isn't you. When there is want where you
are not, where you once were, where you believe
you should be. Here. The space, the vacancy
between us, a picture frame of a previous time,
a memoir, the right turn on a shipwreck yelling
iceberg. The intermediate, the alternative, the place
you shouldn't have to see, or hear, or think about
the third vertex of the bermuda triangle
where there is no reason, just the earth pulling
downward, physics at its best, a storm cloud
crackling, stay away. 

Instead, you stay.
And you see.
And I'm sorry.