AKIN TO A GHOST

“No home anymore. Nowhere to return. My house is a ruin, a cemetery.”

We are hard on each other and call it honesty, choosing our jagged truths with care and aiming them across the neutral table.

The things we say are true; it is our crooked aim, our choices turn them criminal.

ii

Of course your lies are more amusing: you make them new each time.

Your truths, painful and boring repeat themselves over & over perhaps because you own so few of them

iii

A truth should exist, it should not be used like this. If I love you

is that a fact or a weapon?

iv

Does the body lie moving like this, are these touches, hairs, wet soft marble my tongue runs over lies you are telling me?

Your body is not a word, it does not lie or speak truth either.

It is only here or not here.

“no feelings,” i say when his fingers raise my chin towards his.

no feelings. our lips meet and a fire erupts inside me.

no feelings. days become weeks. his secrets become my own, his laughter the soundtrack of my nights.

no feelings. we lay on the couch, limbs intertwined. he plays with my hair. kisses me with his entire being as we say goodbye.

no feelings but i don’t mean it. i don’t mean it. i’m sorry.