jaunting

just like everything else,
it twisted up backward
and mistook me
for the martyr
and the lethal
undertaker
it had forgotten
without; or nothing
and no one
to promise the
pages to. I didn't ask

for anything;

they will give me
more and more

and more

like damns built backwards

until your skin becomes 

a sentimental interlude
to whittle
down the love into
you. Your
elegance
is understood
to be —
forever —
unmistakably
free.