he told me that if i caught the next train to Detroit,
he would grab me by the waist and take me to the
edge of Proud Lake in Commerce, MI.
holding both sides of my face, he would list off
all the reasons why i was the one.
i am burying this fantasy,
pulling the hum of his voice out of my ear drums.
if you were here right now, i would kiss you
he said before spilling gasoline under my car tires
and flicking his half-smoked cigarette into it.
i miss the taste of his nicotine.
i miss every strand of his hair.
we are both addicts.
his hand was the span of Orion.
in it, he held mine and squeezed all too forcefully.
i should have taken this as a warning, a sign
of love's tendency to strangle its participants.
i just want my best friend back
he whispered in between apologies.
my arms ached to accept, but
some promises are better off broken.
i spent my 16th birthday reading the palm of his hand;
little did i know i was dyslexic in the art of skin.
his canvas was calloused and worn and
when he touched me, his blisters were contagious.
i have splinters in my fingertips from holding onto him too tightly.
i am in the process of bleeding the wood-grains out.
when i'm finished, i'll send the remnants
of my skin 300 miles to the foot of his bed.
he won't even recognize me.