a letter to your autopsy report

detailing’s of your brain matter smattering our bed-room walls,

sheets I can no longer use; forced perspective—your remains,

nirvanas of the stars.

A lie. a lie that latches in vertebra of my spine:

brushing shoulders, contusions of breath –

stars collapse inward &

that was all you:

quantum entanglement of fist & stomach,

where bruise mapped universe converges our minds

time, reality to singularity.

I look through black-holed eyes,

trapped,

this apartment

temporal distortion flashes behind

my mind-eyed terror-ribbed fluttered pleas:

please stop,

please kiss me

please come, close the divide

promise it won’t happen again &

there are so many worse things to see,

I wanted to hold you close, despite them

or maybe, one day, to erase the gaps

lingering in my shadow’s wake

& I think you wanted that, too.

If there is no you anymore

I don’t get to hate you anymore.

If this divide, impenetrable

spans along the echo of promises unfulfilled

I will, from the ash, build my own bridge

& become someone more than the mess

you left behind so

thank you.

I think that’s the worst thing I could say.