you never ask about my mornings
or daydreams; just
twirl the edge of your Merit
between your thumb
and pointer and
go back to ignoring that
there are years of stance
between us.

    ( it’s just one breath)

look at me with
masked inconsequence,
a cold front and
lick whatever sugar is stuck to
my teeth.
go back to your lighter.

go back to your quiet
preoccupations, your
mundane wardrobe.
go back to your opinion
that my anarchy
is the danger of the couple,
not your ability to
wrap your fist around a throat
without a safety word first.

and love?
I want this thing gone. 

it’s rent I have to worry about
most.

“Staid”