40,000 Hz

We were making love
Under the stairs
To the flashing of fluorescence
And the sounds of spinning records,
Scratching memories into the disc
And hoping no one catches on.

Rupture.

What would you do
with all these pieces of me?
Please be innovative with your touch.
Don't paste them back together
in a crude attempt to recreate me.
Make me new
and whole
and lovely for your eyes to see.

I'd want to be nothing else.

like ribbons.

and when the rain comes heavy
i feel a little less empty--
fills up all the holes in my dam
that have been years in the breaking.