It’s a kind of death,

a certain dying; not unlike a life choosing

wallpaper for a house on fire.

 

How shall I fall apart today?
Like a system;
A promise —
A spine?

Another waste.

We fall apart

I know, so I suppose

it’s not relevant how.

 

Later today,

I will quarter another of your recipes

heat only this room

And wish that I could know how young I was.