bones and brains and breaking up is hard to do

you are laying here silently where the barrel meets his temple
waiting for him to pull you closer so that your head will curled into his neck so that you will be an orange rolled into a rind that was once fixed tight around you now a shotty network of pulp veins
you and it will peer
into the pressed pores of his mottled skin as if they could lead you to some huddled truth more real than you are and disarm you of your stubborn resolve
it is baldly interesting to you
the care you take with these moments when your perched confidence allows you distance and your tick tock eyes can study the sleepy dark of a bedroom at four a.m.