~It's 4 am; I sashay with myself~

your arms left little to be desired
ambered and spent but strong with contempt
and only the night knows who they've collared
caught your credence between my splayed fingers
and played your apathy like a lute, low and sweet

~Defying everything, I stay on the floor~

the prison breaks for a moment
and the only thing separating us are walls;
miniscule barriers brought down with hammers
and maybe less-
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't an expert at demolition
but there you are;
packing sand and concrete in the confines 

~Instead I'm adding up the hours I spend with everyone but you~

the desert heat wakes me from our fractals
where your building blocks and my frenzied
hacking, stabbing, smashing and grabbing
are reduced afore reality, into all our sweet nothing's

ash, or shattered silences startling me straight
and the ghost of you grins from inside me
asking if I remember the nights I laid awake


pretending


~they say there's not much difference between
a good man and a long drag from a cigarette~