I find shelter in the line of your clavicle, a geometric diagram,
The resonant alcove of a moonless night rendered penitent.
There are no truths to be found in the extension of your limbs
A parody of allusion, this puzzle not mine to piece together.
I watch your reflection embedded on the surface of the window,
A calamitous prototype of a self never to be fully revealed.
Like a ghastly superstition, you adhere to the periphery of my psyche,
The climax of this play, so imprecise that I believed it a rumour,
Will see me flutter off its stage as if I were a dancer or a compulsive gambler
Whipped by the mundane into senseless sacrifice, and yet…
Dangerously unsteady, we cling to one another to the end.