we were shadows with faces in the late afternoon
foggy voices shouting accusations, wavery sounds
i cleared my voice but the mucus would not break
you flung a rock and hit something thick in the distance
the birds scattered as though a dog had run through the leaves
sometimes when i was alone, i found myself wandering
through some dense undergrowth of anxiety feeling like
the perpetrator of crimes against myself, self-inflicted
violence, when it was you who threw the stone.
my heart was a sticky coughdrop that had fallen
in the dirt in the dwindling daylight, menthol traces
still on your breath. the night swallowed us but
somewhere there was still the echoing thud, over
and over again.