almost
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.