How do you just, stop?
We held years of love
in the space between our palms
and your hands like dishes (i would eat from)
held most of us,
encapsulated.
Not a toe over the threshold.
Border control. Paired confinement.
Can’t leave the house together,
can’t stand to be reminded, but –
somehow exempt;
the need – steeped, radiant fucking.
Heartache incensed.
Doesn’t that remind you
of who we were before?
When your body is all i can breathe
and eyes I’ve known all i see,
I can’t tell the difference between
now and before, or
you
and me.
Applaud the poet 