vendetta

i remember the fifth of november.

blowing smoke rings at the popcorn kernels on my shitty ceiling.
              i can inhale you off my mind.
at least, i think i can.

but still the thought of two toothbrushes
              resting on the cracked veneer of my sink
questions every so loudly
              breaching the darkness:

"us?"

                                                  i said i wouldn't grow attached to you.



it's four am.
      in november.
and i swear, i didn't.

                        but here i am,
with only my third eye open,
         trying to so hard to see.


memorizing-
chronicling-
 the way your hair falls to the left side...

but, only
        when you laugh.
and
the way the silver
                in your eyes matches
                            the gold in mine.


precious metals and porcelain veneer.

                                                  and from the bathroom, the chanting
                                                 of the toothbrushes
                                                 continues.



"us?" "us?" "us?"

it only stops when you rustle the comforter
       stretching your body across the length of my used mattress
                 and let out a sigh that
             
-i swear-

must be the opening beat of
                     to god's favorite song on his iPod.

                            and mumble "you. and. me."

c.b.