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.