The dust from the sky and ceiling
clusters the glass, darkens the thoughts as they appear.
Everything is sun-streaked, water-tight, empty,
over-saturated.
Our lips may as well have bled.
I remember the forget-me-nots
pouring themselves over the dell,
how you laughed at me,
how you forgot about me.
I remember the way my face looked
in the glass after the dark forced me out
of our bed and into the doorway.
The bruise that formed invisibly,
the bruise I gave myself.
The kitchen, its sketched clutter suspended
underwater, the shadows like arms
keeping me out.
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