Gesticulating choreographed emotions
ending arms akimbo,
your own personal monument.
In a need for an emergency,
crepuscular rays spotlight
hidden pieces in our plot.
A matchbox depleted but one,
I light the box on fire; you spit on it.
Semantic satiation of past accusations
roots itself within your voice, the air
in the room becomes stagnant.
Future retaliate, so I may calm my
shaking fingers; they curl,
settle, heavy on the wood floor.
With your clandestine hands,
mold me into a beautiful statue,
still visible with life.