not an addict

a violent surmise:
recap
the last bitter passion
of soul against logic.


tasted the irony
(we find familiarity
in sarcasm,
comfort in you
turning your back on us)
faintest hint of last night's apathy-
this morning's regret.
cleaned our teeth
of the path your tongue had traced
in full-on mockery
of those things we shared with you.



bitter, but never sweet.


an acrid residue
once known as the love
of a stranger
now leaves hands and skin
wanting of cleanliness,
leaves heart
to dance as a hammer.
the music born of your touch
was beautiful,
but a poor comfort
in light of this afterself,
this thing i have become.


and (selfish, always!)
i dare say
i weathered your storm in full
and am no better for the wear.
i strayed from my own council
yet, when it suits me,
have mastered the art
of self.justification
…
(gratification?)




no.
i take no satisfaction
from my travesty.
i carry with me no trophy
proclaiming "Look!
See now what I have done!"
no, i carry instead
a bitter loss of physical self
(very tangible, that)
too much skin
too little strength

too few breaths
that do not leave me coughing.



we've aged.
we faltered.


again.







and still i adore you.