We both had similar taste, but often in the same men

You used to bash
thick heel of stilettoed shoe
against thin frame
of metal water heater
mounted over clogged sink
in pinched corner of kitchen
at 6:00am,
less than six feet
from where I slept
and I leapt, every time,
like someone had smashed an egg
into the side of my skull
where I tried to keep the peace.

I can’t remember
how we made our way
into that apartment,
how many stairs we took
before we turned in
or where key was placed
in frame of door
since sealed shut.

Now, a million steps
from a doorframe
that has shifted from focus,
I wake
with taste of yoke on my lips
and an echo
of all that has since smashed
and wonder of the tiny little pieces
you’ve have to paste together
to bring me back
to sight of you
with shoe in hand
desperate to ignite a single flame
in sleeping soul
who wasn’t always able to keep
that peace.

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