sometimes we're
more tired of
effort than failure

exhaust attempts

to explain these
jumps between
associations

back to running
lapse

i followed

& you didn't

even hold
the door

trying too
late to put
all that

distance

back
between us

a fall back
into things which
will hold me

or am i just these
pieces i give away

a life of how
to sit silently

as a mind's
overwhelmed

by high-pitch
hysteria

circumnavigate
like i'll avoid
those calloused
hands

reach & i'd love to
grab but he only
ever whirlpools me

a blank page
to turn or
scribble on
& i'm never
sure which

he waits &
i am here
back-to-back
with this door

why is writing
as a form of
avoidance

always my
most productive

my life in measures
before or after
this coda of him

set at a common
table with my fate

i'll admit to
occasions
of a little

aggression

to scare him
back into
unsurety

a point driven
a pique

of my own
curiosity

a piece of poem
for every time

he's picked up
his goddamn phone

my hackles raise
he thinks me
such a certainty

this delicate
dance of
untangling

swill decisions
slow distracts
ice slides & clinks
in empty glass

a sleight of hand &
hint at smoulder
i'd brush that scruff
i'd bite that shoulder

cheeky clip of blues
traveler crosses my mind
'cause this hook brings
him back every time