From The Inner Space

Swinging, from light into shadow, look
how I hanged myself on your sentences
hanging from your tongue and I end
where months before I’d begun.

Swinging, mouth open ready to scream
the arguments that would cut me loose
from barbed wire spheres that we’ve weaved
for this very use.

Swinging, in the childhood of us
My toes caressing the bed, the sheets
Back and forth, you stare from the door
Inviting my breath to leave
with you.

Swinging, memories of childhood,
but your swing is different,
this one’s a noose painting me blue
with enough shades of white
for you to write your apology on
when I’m gone.