I am tearing you from my skin, because that is the only way that I can keep living. I am trying my best not to rip off large swaths of myself as I do this, so enmeshed did I let myself become in you. My hands which once shook from tenderness now shake from the messy and painful work of picking apart our togetherness, trying to separate what is you, and what is me. Let me ask- 
a) How do you tear off memory? I wake in the early morning and it takes me a few minutes to remember you are lost to me, in some vast sea I can’t get to. I beat my head against this truth the way waves unendingly throw themselves against rocks.                                         
b) I think I smell you, your sharp acrid tang on the street and follow a stranger for blocks, helplessly inhaling him, a street prophet I hope will lead me to you.              
c) How do you tear off sight? When I open my eyes, they only see your absence in every frame, and when I close them, the phosphenes dance and merge to form your shadow. When will you blur, fade into the periphery of my sight, my thoughts?
d) How do you tear off sound from a body…tear off the light crackling hum in the air, a magnetic charge given off by the gentle thrum of our bodies, who knew how to be together before we did.      
How do you tear off love without mutilating yourself? 

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