Bound
Stupid.
So goddamned oblivious.
So focused -
yeah, whatever.
I feel naked without you,
the cool gloved
touch that connected me
to you.
How could I not have known.
How, indeed.
I run fingertips across
the barren flesh, the aching familiarity
longing to feel
the memento of you.
Some adversary I am.
Priorities, my ass.
Excuses are for the things
that don't matter.
And here I sit,
ashamed at my weakness,
how such small words
can have taken so much of me
with them.
But they took you, too,
and that's the torture of it.
Damn it.
My skin throbs to feel
that smooth press again.
God, to look down
and see you there, to know
I've kept you safe
within my mind.
Amen to that.
A fucking pity
the covenant's already been broken
with a careless throw, unadorned by thought
and unmarked.
A psychological burial
at the proverbial fucking sea.
Yeah, A-fucking-men to me.
