your hands scathe the brittle birthmark on my back,
                                         tearing…gnawing… rotting my
teeth with your tongue,               your words crueller
than a traumatic attack.

stop.

‘sorry, sorry, love, i’m sorry, love.’ the
                          fluorescent afterglow of
                                   your wicked words,
          your green hair consumes me-
orange eyes,
if i lie on my back, will you return wearing a
disguise,
you are  i am 
not you. not i.
weave your skin into my skin,
                                                         carve your gaze into my gaze,
can you no longer look at me? can you no longer look at me?

please remember that threads can
be untangled, and i can untangle with
my scratched hands, your green hair
from my purple hair. please, remember
that- as you said to be polite; i can go on
without you, yes i can. i will, i want to, i’m
sure you’ll be alright. i’ll take with me my
hemingway, we can sell our borrowed café,
please, remember; i’ll be okay, please,
remember; there will be no replay.

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