an unrehearsed universe

One Last Time for Old Time's Sake

Words fail us,
         only you, to be honest,
more often than not are for naught,

our indoor voices decibels above
the freight trucks
         I never got used to
zooming underneath the window;

a poor trade, trees for cement. 

We wound with sex
         you lay there
         dry, unappealing,
gouging rings
tucked into your palm

as we come together or apart
         ferocious, furious
         couplings that never satisfy
(neither of us come anymore)

the urge to break you.