I kept it away from you

"Write me back," he says. "Answer the phone."

I've lost myself somewhere along the way

and he holds my truth in cruel, clean hands.

"Write me back," he says. "Help me, please."

He tells me he's lost in some sickness,

in between pages of a good book made evil.

"Write me back," he says. "One more time."

I write him back, and he comes to me

and I let him in and

hold him,

hold him,

hold him.

He cries the tears he's stolen

kept in dusty jars beside the hair and teeth,

and I wipe them away

and kiss his head

and we end it as we began: together

but separate. Disparaging.