There are times I want to say Nevermind, cut
it off before the spread goes someplace dangerous.
Not because I was wrong, not because the act
wouldn’t take a longsword to my insides
or because love wanes, like it’s as flippant
as the moon. But because one day,
one of us will miss this. One
of us will grapple at memories and stifling
air. Just one of us will make a grab
for the good side of the duvet, claim victory
over the last wilted tortilla. And I know
it will be me. It’s what I owe, what
I inked my name in stinky desperation
for all those years ago. You’ll go first and I—
I will happily go second. Pick up the crumbs,
the left behinds, the love still gooey
from groggy morning and late-late nights. This
is why I go on, why we go on, why I’m poised
for the Seppuku that I begged hard,
busted kneed and blubber-drunk for.
Read more from Issue No. 11 or share on Facebook and Twitter.