Chromatogram of first heartbreak

it’s not blood, which is your first mistaken assumption.

technically a little still ebbs between us – not bad,

just old – but not enough to accuse or convict. thin

gruel of past disagreement left to attract flies. when

held to the light, even the rinse of apology doesn’t

quite come clean – see here, the pallor dulls intent

to merry side-stepping. do you spot the dalmatian tide

where fault makes fault-lines? no, it’s not blood,

though you’d like that, wouldn’t you? swallowed

easier when gory, not sentimental. I can’t tell you

what we’re testing here; vegetable, mineral,

the animal of what gets left behind. telling

would be too kind an infringement. it would matter

to you, of course it would – what coagulates in

the moment contact comes knocking. I’ll let your

curiosity climb closer, though. our findings may not

be to your taste, insipid though the details are. note

fine fingerprints over the landing strip, the laced

nothings of finer ink. one patch of sunlight.