Your favorite picture is being unscrewed
From the wall, timidly, tenderly, by a hand
So slight and devoted you almost miss it.
You watch blood and lubricants spurt through the skin—
Those fluids sure are having a great time without you!
Half-aware that you’re watching in a humiliating way
As a ceiling vent ravishing its microclimate
Nearly makes you forget you still have your coat on
The heavy one with the thick buttons.
“That coat has spunk,” someone said once
Before vanishing from your work-life balance
Like a facial expression never worn again
After that evening, little more than a playing card
Whose edge you might thumb until it frayed
And fell open—so obviously, if you believe sex
Is the meaning of life, we aren’t friends
We are more than that, probably always were
Two dry pens scrubbing unreadable messages
Into opposite sides of the plaster.