Door ajar.

I want to wring myself dry of you. 
I want to stand at the edge of your window sill and see the world again.
I want to hang myself from rooftops until I am no longer afraid. 
I bound your wrists and stitched you shut but
when I left the room, I left it open -

I despise the mornings of your shoulders I cannot wake to.
I wish I could kiss our disjointed bridges, the soft hinges
of your knees, the loud crack of your knuckles in the dark,
a bad habit, a self-portrait.

Your life spills from me in tones I don't understand,
a language that isn't mine; the tongue of two people.
I pray for absolution,
In faith I will be consoled to be without you again.

As of late

It's been awhile now, hasn't it. Here's one just to end the drought.