Modica.

I was squeezing the universe into the confines of a Polaroid
  of you, you trying to clean up the galaxies
      you said you saw floating in each iris but flowers
dripped ink onto chessboard pieces and
you were whispering "check" no matter which continental direction I
tried to flee

and the man
the man smoking his peace pipe outside of crumbling childhood centres said
we were definitely a little short of forever and you laughed,
holding my shoulders like small doves in your hands and saying that
you didn't care,
i wasn't the most circular sphere in the marble jar but that
you wanted me to think in terms of legal documents and a little Californian bungalow

but we broke the porcelain dolls anyway
standing on each others ribs and tearing ourselves to pieces with
glass eyes and the corners of sheet music
opening each other, giggling, telling everyone how cute it was
we watched our veins become tracks and when
we held hands (even though you said you didn't like to)
everything collided and fell to beautiful pieces
shooting up hungrily, we tried to hide from God
but my ceiling jaundiced and broke through the syllables,

allowing my molars to sing against one another angrily
yet I told you it was no pieta, just a teenage symphony and you kissed me,
hard, in that serious way

and I wondered if you heard the way my pulse
filtered through an hourglass
where heaven and hell met and laid me down to sleep on a bed of nails
ribs cut through skin, you climbed inside me for reparations
gums burst and bled, we made love inside of a giant drum filled with flowers
                                                  that looked like bleeding hearts

could you have been more wrong, more wrong
standing in the smoldering pupils of my eyes and saying
"I'm sorry, doing this to her is killing me,
I love you but I don't think you could love me at all... at all... at all"