The night of the morning,
of the laughing confession,
Guilt
surreal and smarting
tried to shrink
and up the undigested food
The will I had
(then, but not then)
to subdue
opt out of that
into unprecedented slumber,
surely only added
to an aspect of indifference
that was no more real
than what already
eluded us
Later, it came
in waves and waves
the worst thing, not what, but
the not who, but
the lagunas
and the constant, future reminders
of my duality –
the line you crossed, knowingly
the one I did,
knowingly,
proving you
to be right
