Fragmented

Where the pieces of me end
and the fragments of you begin
there is the slightest crack,
the smallest, hairline fracture,
but still — a gap

housing loose strands of
my selfishness and
your confusion
and my insecurities
and your arrogance
all hanging together like
wiry hairs that do not know
where they were born

I am this:
espresso cubano, 2 shots,
hiding behind steam & sugar
You are:
red eye — hot & straight up,
and while I have always preferred black coffee
these days, I find my limbs extending into
past refrigerators, rummaging aimlessly
for the half-and-half [french vanilla]

my weakness is hulking
an infinite bulge of mismatched socks and
mirror shards buried under tarpaulin and dust
and I am sorry it's so messy,
and that I have lost the keys to everything,
and that all the plants are unwatered,
and that the wine stains just won't come out,
and that my hands have forgotten how to clench into
the fists they once knew
and that my eyes keep leaking and leaking,
and my lips have lost their blueprints for
building words that make my heart make sense again,
and that I am not strong enough to carry both my weakness and yours,
I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry.