Separate

 I taste you and it's morning.

 You are the dry, sweet. 

 You are my mouth,

 My lips,

 My tongue. 

 I see my spirit hanging

 From the wooden beams

 Of your high house. 

 Watch me watch myself

 As I draw blood in the 

 Dull ache

 To remind autumn there is 

 Still something 

 Behind

 My ribcage. 

 Somewhere on the road that is me

 There is a house where

 Demons shoot whiskey 

 And play the fiddle 

 And 

 Cast lots.

 When they do 

 My eyes are gaping wounds. 

 She is everything I am not. 

 When will my bones stagger

 Like drunken sailors 

 Awake? 

 And writhe 

 Like children do 

 Inside the second life they'll make?

 I loved you naked, 

 In bare feet. 

 There were no wires, 

 Just static heat 

 And swaying. 

 We were October. 

 Now I am older.

 And 

 I am 

 Old enough 

 To know 

 How to stitch myself up

(From where the marriage was).