your love is inferior,

like cheap wine, bitter;

you suck the oxygen out of me

until i am empty again.

your hand on the steering wheel,

eyes not on the road.

i crave collision; instantaneous,

we can be particles drifting in the autumn wind, you and i.

maybe i will

end up somewhere pretty. somewhere

far away from your alluring isolation

or maybe the specks of dust that are us

will be more content than we could ever be whole.

untroubled.

i can’t bear you unbuttoning my dress

one more time. i want to crawl out of my own skin.

how i long—to be nothing, to be

more invisible than air itself.

a trace in the wind;

you cannot brush your fingers across my skin like sandpaper.

we can forget about everything bad

on impact.