a split end.
trim it off
with the fat of memory.
throw it away
and watch the arc it makes in air
as if of your hair.
it wasn't you,
lover, that crawled out
into day,
white skin pimpled with shock
beneath a blue sky.
as if i stripped you even of skin
and wore you,
huddled
within.
in the sanity of moonlight,
moonlight dripping memory,
i draw a zinc-white thumb
across a lip
and wait for night
to dry.