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
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