i’m running a hand through your loose ends today,

coddling the urge to yank down like a ham-fisted 

toddler, swaddled up to my cheeks but not yet blind

folded, not yet able to fall asleep until i have both

of your arms around me, stopping me from falling.


it's like watching a movie whose actors are long dead,

knowing the performance is in the past, and all i have

is film memory, coiled, cut at the places i chose to blink.
 

if only i could paint it black and white, reveal the squall, 

and yank. would you tell me if any of it was real?

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end rhyme adversary

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