so married

by skin

even my fingers rush to study

every dry groove you carve across

my own face, our face,

the single self, splitting into

foil and forgetting

my labor, lost to

whatever magic brought you here,

your flotsam shadow,

at my feet—

double the weight of

a sinking house, mud-soaked in

my jagged outline, waiting for

the moon. You’re a moment slower,

a flit of veil through the trees—

the right hand in a window,

the left hand covered in blood, once,

swiping permission from my voice

then from my family, a timely guess as to

 

who is whom

who is to blame

 

when I cannot tell the difference

between the tooled or weaponed knife

in hands that look like mine

a mouth that lies and explores

with teeth along the same lover’s jaw,

enough force to render memory into ash,

the world of us fading

into film