like this

Upside down
on the bed, head
hanging off the edge.
The old phone in hand,
the impatience of the dial tone
speaking to you religiously.

Do you feel the pause
in your breath? If you lived
inside of those spaces for centuries,
tell me, where would it take you? Would
it break you? I go to dinner parties and
think of what it would be like to say
truthful things, but when the wineglasses
clink, I think differently.

The bridge goes untraveled
almost as much as the fridge
that summer when you, I,
starved myself. Glasses
of water, lemonade,
and the occasional
tea - but only if it
was green.

The weight of
the water, the
unexplored world
underneath haunts
us like flashbacks,
nightmares and
bruises.

He fucked you
in the loo and you
said nothing because
love is overrated, or something
like that, and even if you were loved
you wouldn't know what to do with it.