Steph Bruzon

has it any waste? 

/

well, I won’t go for it.

/

I’m a woman of taste,

I tell you,

/

or I might just be. 

/

but I am desperate occasionally, 

and always in a rush, 

and the line I tried

                      to tread

                         lightly through 

                              to get to you 

has left me unaccompanied.

/

I stop by for some groceries and 

your favorite gum on my way home. 

/

If only I could buy a wishbone. 

/

I’d wish us another season of unsevered, torturous wanting, 

no clarity included, no salvation.

/

we won’t get even close to divinity, 

so let’s follow through on the promise of damnation,

if it’s still on the table. 

/

trust me in ways that I would never be able 

to trust you 

or anyone. 

/

tell me that it will be better 

once it’s almost over, 

which in my case 

has never not been true. 

/

sure, I may only like myself 

when I’m looking at you, 

and you’re looking at me, 

/

and I am so empty, so empty, 

but every space is desolate 

until you crack it open and it bleeds. 

/

and if you

cut me open,

you’ll see

that I do. 

/

I am empty, 

but only in the places

I need filled. 

/

would you?