Twenty Six.

I didn't think it was possible for you to still break my heart.

But seeing that picture of you - with him and your son
in that house I don't recognize
in clothes you never would have worn before
with a tight, uncomfortable smile on your face -
I can feel the corners of my chest peeling away
to reveal something raw,
exposed bone and sinew that
aches as I breathe.

I guess a part of me still loves you.

Twenty Five.

Feverish heat
sweeps over muscle and bone
until I'm blind,
pitch black
with white flashes of
the gleam of
your eyes,
the curve of
your shoulder
as you lift me
into your arms.