“do you ever think of strangling me while i am asleep?”
but sometimes he watches my consciousness impersonate the softness of a preserved corpse and remembers the november sunset crowning : stillborn. i am the umbilical yarn winded around the last beautiful face he ever knew, the first gemini twin to dislodge itself from his corner of the constellations.
even our bodies wanted to write words and seem chronological but the only timeline we could build was eight p.m. kisses in a public bathroom and thirteen minutes of excruciating pain two years later in some small town in the south. he yawns and i smile because he is satisfied in being perfectly, horribly unsatisfied. he probably loves me.
yes, he does.