Hits hard the way

a fall from grace,
from fame to being
forgotten, from reckless abandon
to scrambling for recognition,
does a starlit scarred-lip
starlet. Starves from attention
all intention, dissolves affection
if no one’s watching,

          echoes that nobody’s listening.

That you never were
someone worth something. Love
hurts me. Dark as
the first time I
closed my eyes underwater,
blinded tyrant. Trying to
rewrite it so I
come off thriving, come

          out fighting, surviving. Nose

diving snowpiles, grinding pearls
into plates cola-stained porcelain
teeth under glistening lips
pressed against scratch as
if diamond-tipped. Demanding with
all the intensity of
an Inquisition some form
of confession: am I

          your man or your

mend? Questions amass elusive
silences, collect as blood
gathers into a blush
until what’s left unacknowledged
is unconscious, is collective.
Fixations transfix, transgressions finesse
into fineness the grit
exes experience transitioning to

          the next one’s death.