Ghost
By
    Photo from Pixabay / Licensed under Creative Commons
    Photo from Pixabay / Licensed under Creative Commons

    When I found your tongue tasteless as ice,

    the words congealed.

    We could have had ecstasies.


    We did get high. Made loveless,

    choreographed motions. You prided yourself

    in this and in acting.


    In both your lips are too cold.


    I prided myself in prudence and writing

    (which is to say not an excess

    of parentheticals).


    Pride will tear us both apart–

    You turned the radio down and up

    down and up. Fascinated.


    The gray-ribbed volume switch was glowing.

    The room was warm and stale. I sank

    into myself, a closed parenthesis

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