bachelorhood

I play wife to my own feelings
as every deformity holds to every statue
I have ever been

winter has long since rolled her dice
and there is no one left to collect my tears
my wet music of being here

in this incredible museum of betweens

she would have been perfect if she knew
what to perfect

if I accepted her flesh as something more than a ticket
to my own surrogate composure
I would not be so regretfully immune

so gospel and dogged
so eternalized