Inhale, all our swallowed anniversaries turn to sawdust in
my throat.
I think of your fingers molding memories into plastic bags,
pushing them down my throat with the calm determination of holding an infant under water.
When I breathe, my chest rattles with your body.
This is a slow removal, dismantling us piece by piece.
On those rare days I feel brave enough to desecrate our
mausoleum, I inject myself with pure indifference before severing the limbs of our future.
I blindfold myself before burying them.
I found your necklace at your throat, held tight between
stiff fingers.
I kept its bronze circle at arms length, cautiously reveling in the
last piece of our beauty.
We drove together, a disappointed ghost trailing our exhaust,
your halo scratching my arm with every turn.
I drew circles in the air with my finger, making promises to
no one but myself.
Divination escapes me, I need to know the answers to all my
masochistic questions.
You hang like a chandelier over my head, held by two fraying
black threads,
Torn from my wrist in a desperate attempt to keep from
shattering again.