how impossible all of it is

i.
if you ever said
you were sorry, i think
i would believe you. but
i know you only apologize
into corners. you peer
cautiously through raven strands,
expecting crows to nest in your hair
and not know the difference.

ii.
we have reconnected; you pour
your heart out to me
across the shag tundra. i
pause my words just behind
my teeth. i know
you grow tired of waiting.

iii.
i have written circles
and circles around you
in acrid ink, and i like
to tell myself this is because
you do not deserve
my words. but really
it is that i will probably
dissolve into salt and crimson
threads on contact. you still
whisper with my bones beneath my skin.

iv.
you do not deserve me,
or him, or especially
her. but princesses
have a way of flexing
the world around their
silver spoons. it will
definitely sting, though,
when the elastic snaps.

v.
i have not heard from you,
and i think you may
be gone. you are not sobbing pillowcases
bloody anymore. you are resting against
the seattle seashells, lilting patterns
across crystal-perfect skin. i
have to imagine you at peace
so i can bear to imagine you
at all.