Today I am relentless desolation.
Today I will take up this glass and drink the pristine
liquid that fills you, all consoling demijohn.
Together you and I will eviscerate
this bleakness so that tomorrow
we can both continue on our paths.
Your former self empty, waiting
to be collected and sold by the woman that
lives under the bridge.
My skin to be scoured,
my hair to be combed, and my
clothes to be arranged neatly about my person.
Both of us indubitably playing our roles.
You riding along patiently in the black plastik.
Me, writing fervently into the night
Within each of us there remains a yearning.
And tomorrow, after everything, something curious this way comes.
Can you forgive me for making you like me?