your fault in in the forbidden room

in the darkness of our miracle — that soft, sick twist of the low half-moon — we cradled our cold truth like a bruise and said nothing. but the tremble of my bones rippled your bedsheets like the surface of a pond — the one they kept pulling bodies from, girl after girl, like some dark magic trick. i think i’ve been here before. maybe many times before. biting the blunt of my tongue til my teeth blush, counting the knots in your angry spine like rosary beads. and the night just keeps spilling: a continual wash, a slow, shivering rain and i want to press my nose against yours, so close you can feel my breath and tell you my love is hard and small and raw — and i blame you, with every bone in my body, i blame you.