before florence

i unlace myself from him

then the grief of being touched

by someone that's not you

in places otherwise still branded by us

it creeps thick, like ivy

a heavy haunting

—

tangled and tethered

veins and vines

crawling up carotid arteries

search… ing

for light

for breath

—

up stone walls

and rickety old staircases

through

forgotten

closets

reaching

an empty attic

—

where a closed window’s shutters

cast a painful sliver of light

on an old box labeled 'us'

still up there

from before

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