I don’t know if I’ve written anything without changing the details.
The scream hangs in the past, in the present, and those years between.
I feel them slice me open and tug, then I smell my own innards burning.
I want you enough to gnash you into a silence made from pieces of silver.
I grip the handlebar and pin my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable crash.
He greets you with a kiss and marries your elbow to walk the path.
She holds the shirt to her face and inhales. With a start she pulls away.