And we’re not in love. Darling,
We’re not even in like. A hammer
Through the Perfect Reflection shatters
A heart, or two, or three. Give me an
Echoing vigil over your scraping and snarling
Any day. Look. Through the jagged
Shards of the Cracked Reality. Keep all hands,
Arms, feet, and legs inside the vehicle.
This glass is too sharp. Watch. I scorn
The woman who dotes upon you.
The accessory who grasps desperately
at an arm, a hand, a heart. Me.
Our shoes, rubbed raw, on wooden planks.
Our ghostly photos shadowing the walls.
Our crisp love letters. See. We were okay
Once, maybe. Why have you got that face on?
I’m telling you Don’t Be A Brat. You know
If the wind changes you’ll be stuck like that.