absence is persistent

i.
i am tempted
by the momentum of hands
and the possibilites fingers hold
when pressed lightly
on heavy shoulders

because "alone"
has teeth these days

ii.
i haven't written in months
and i need to wage a war
against logic
against the cruelty of

puncuation  

because somehow i can breath
in the freedom of a run on sentance
 
iii.
i will not write of tears
memory or half empty beds at
two thirty a.m.

because realization feels
too much like an epilouge

and i haven't the language

iv.
it should have been smaller
the moment where weakness became
another word for fucking just
for promise of heat

and that truth will
leave a mark

v.
i am jealous
of writers whos words
never betray them

mine have gutted me
because absence is persistent

and i struggle to find a single
harsh word to cut you
deep enough