black lines
that hang from my eyes
like ash that drifts
off the scarecrows at your father's farm.
It's nearly a full moon
your eyes have a mean glow
i haven't seen yet
the transformation is slow
as if the devil has been whispering
30 days of bad jokes
until you can't help but laugh
and throw one back
When I get home
there's skin growing over the crushed glass in your fist
my veil is in shreds
our voices drown each other
like engines stalled and dissonant
you fall asleep on the ocean
your arm off the bed
I try to lie flatter thinner than the sheet
you catch sea life in your gloved hand
and I clutch the sand on the ceiling
making long lists of things to blame you for until morning.
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