Ink

When I drink at night

I taste your words on my tongue—

the letters scatter across

vacant space filling it with

curves, points, dots of reason

like a road map

etched into my palms.

I taste permanence as

the ache surfaces

the distance expands

the white noise rises.

When I drink at night

I feel your heavy gaze across the room

standing with your palms

facing the floorboards,

your dark blue veins pulse

in rhythm with my chest.

I clench my fists together

‘til the skin I feel is no longer mine

and the words you spoke are no longer yours.

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