all lights are out and all bets are off.
we stand in the driveway of my childhood home, your lean lines a sprawling angular darkness against my car, my awkward hands anchored in pockets. i stare up at a face i've known for five years, loved for four, and resented for god-knows-how-many. here we are finally strangers because my tongue has swollen to a clumsy, unfamiliar mass and i am tripping over words that are an alien language. the semantics of relationship.
autumn winds are rising and this coldness is no longer restrained to the dead space between our bodies as i fumble for your fingers and they latch together like bad puzzle pieces.
remnants of childhood corkboard that has been pressed, pushed, and creased in the corners.