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