pure

i kinda like how innocent we've become
though we come from somewhere
sewn and strung
out, sometimes
fate makes faces at me
glaring, tearing mended spaces set free
i think i see
things in mirrors
way too clearly for my fear
and then i make a story folded
try to open without warning
(this will all be gone by morning)
childlike wonder trumps what i allow
and now i wonder why, or how
as i laugh and stumble out of here
wet and cold and crystal clear
no matter what i said before
i lie
i wander towards the door

the end

rolled the dice.
landed
took the chance, and
moved
forward

(i may not ever
forget your number
but in a while
perhaps
forget everything else)

did not pass
goodbye
or collect two hundred
of anything

perhaps i am now free, though
even so
i now, suddenly,
feel the creases
and folds
in the paper
that holds
you and i

the feel of a delicious yet unspoken lie
words i swallowed to get to the sweet

and that taste
melts
slowly
off
my
tongue
like any intended farewell
must have also

back to the game
i know where your piece goes,
back to where you started
where the green green grass grows

where you can now admire your
white picket fences

that will thankfully keep me from knowing
or caring
ever
again
if the grass there really
is
greener

i roll the dice