we must wipe the slate clean
otherwise I am hopeless
as every word which falls out of my mouth
like a nasty toxic acid
stings, burns and prolongs the pain,
gets right to the back of your pretty eyes.
it would be easier if I were to
live the Holden Caulfield dream
in our undisturbed log cabin
(undisturbed by the destruction of sound)
sorry is a word uttered too much
and I can see you falling out of this
(yes- I admit it was that)
and although I'm splitting, I want to stay.
darling, I fucked up too many times
and I'm s.s.s...straying from
this notion to the warm arms of delirium,
conversations with cats
because, see, they can understand
my begs and my pleas better than you
even if I'm allergic to their irresistible fur
(so it would be better! my eyes do not itch,
but marvel at your patience,
which is running dry and I'm unsurprised)

please linger,
my genetics will change for you-
I will succumb my hips to
the end of a carving knife for you.
I can't forget your smile in the space of a year,
the air of time will only reopen this wound
I-I-I you.