I’m still haunted
by your memory  

in our what happened
and what for  

in our arguments
I still linger 
trace time
by who’s clock  

pull words
with who's pen

I still scold myself
for what mattered

by what purpose
lies
at what price  

why I still wander
these halls
i do not know

why i still
pass and search
gray what fors

and what for.

You could skip the cover
peel back the pages
to find us

lose yourself in the binding
flap your arms
like buoys
in the pacific
like an angel in space

after introductions commence
and the scenery unravels
after words

you could search storms
if you really wanted to find us

you could overturn tables
or the dirty dishes
wander caves
or dig holes in the ocean

beneath the tiles
and character corridors
you could study the accidents
or bounce glaciers
on the palm of your hand

push back the gates
or rip open the seams

expose our warm tummy
our backwards and forwards
climb entwined roots

walls built to collapse
arms written to reach
our sweet
composed

surrender. 

I'm tired of being afraid.

Did I occupy too much space

or not fully assert my own

did I breath too heartily

rape your linguistic sensibilities

did I advance

or personalize

my own sensuality

too often

did I create

uncomfortable

did I

unravel

you

steer you wrongly

did I

forget to take the wheel

did I

imagine us

in places we've never been

as people we never will

did I

escort trouble

into our bed

do you

forgive

easily. 

Stale adjective

1. not fresh; vapid or flat, as beverages; dry or hardened.
2. musty; stagnant.
3. having lost novelty or interest; hackneyed; trite.
4. having lost freshness, vigor, quick intelligence, initiative, or the like, as from overstrain,
    boredom, or surfeit.
5. having lost force or effectiveness through absence of action, as a claim.