You are the half-used bottle of Irish Spring in my shower,
A toothbrush snapped in half
Or that box in my room
Where sweaters and warm-up jackets
From high school soccer teams
Go to die.
You are a forged signature
On a voided check from two years ago.
Multivitamins washed down the sink.
And a packed-up Jeep
With nowhere to go.
You are a soul without a body.
A lost ticket.
A dead language
Bleeding from a split tongue.
You are sperm dying in a garbage can
And my fingernails on the floor of a bar
Next to a cracked-out ballerina
With a broken wing.
You are the left side of my bed
And am I the right.