i hadn’t failed until i watched your back
trembling in the dark window.
turning away to pick up
the fallen comforter,
i wanted to say, don’t look at me
like this—
backfiring with want
as the dark turned you sharp.
those days, light a commodity to save,
i kept looking into the windows
of dark rooms to watch
you next to me.
you, tidying your hair
in the reflection,
bright against the jumble
of construction—
i held on to you
out of the corner of my eye.
some sanctuary.
i wanted your chest beating
in my chest,
so i couldn’t look at you.
what mortality—
turning away at beauty
to preserve
my exit.
and what worship—
to paint you
with my back to you.
to watch your reflection
like a wound.