unknotted

im good at knots.
the problem, it seems,

is the twin-
with fibers impartial to
juncture,

impartial to circumstance,
and the curtains you will hang

when you get your shit together.

i eat simple,
sipping life through

slotted spoons dripping,
and the good

drops
beneath the lips

and onto the floor,
so the cat can know brevity-

her nose smells the breach
of decent.

losing interest,
she attends the

fake mouse
sitting still.

they are...

the both of them...bored.

and here i am-alone,
sitting with the mouth
itching,

hands, incased in air imprisonment,
and can
not touche you-

a plastic pillow case of sinless saunter;

coating confidence,

and i am found
wanting you-

unknotted.