There's a diaspora of emotion
in this room
as the grandfather clock
against the wall
spans the passing of time
the air is heated
to the point
that your body glides
on liquid
and your obscurities
pull me beneath the surface
where love is nothing more
than a good fuck
and climbing water with broken words
won't get you out
of your lack of grace
in this paper cup.
Your voice,
it always seemed out of place
vibrating a little higher than it
should have
except
when your words filled
my ear,
your hand pushing down
on a clavicle
that collapsed to your touch
like lungs filling with a downpour
and you make it difficult to breathe
when you speak
my name
save your words for someone else
it is easier on me
that way.
