On Relationships

The answer to why I spend so much self,

elsewhere-

spills down the fronts of sweaters,

mars nearly every sleeve, every cuff,

a sweetness that fails to color tongue or thought;

Nothing to digest.

And now, you-

crumpling my garments in smiling fists,

a quick toss into the swirl. Churn.

And I, hypnotized by the cycle,

your chore.

A strategic erasure

of all I crave to mourn.