staircases were the worst
you ran 
i counted 

well rehearsed

everything left to its own pace

i found comfort in your jean pockets

why so fast?

i mean, it was our usual

me, behind you.

every day.

the door was always closed when i got there 

a simple twist and push brought me into heavy situations set up for years in our misinterpretation of what becoming one meant

we sucked at math

thanks for leaving it unlocked

there was that, at least

i was cautious, but continued the game peering the corner searching for more it was the sound of the door scraping the floor and then there it was

i was met with that vacant stare

a shake of your head and glance back down

were you surprised, or reminded?

the mail couldn’t of been that interesting

shuffling through

i walk by, open the fridge and grab a bite of yesterday 

you click past, your motions splashed an anxious flash transferred and spun through to me. 

we still pass forks and know who’s turn it is for dishes.

paper plates are piling up.

i’m not without a part

i didn’t take you up on your count to three race to the door

we did that years before

both panting at the top

taking turns being polite

“after you”, 

you’d welcome with your stretched wide smile from both eyes 

home

who cares about the piles of bills

take out drivers delivered our meals

time and ritual didn’t dictate when we found our sheets, it, also, wasn’t always in bed

nice and neat

moments of remembering turned to rip flip renderings of flesh seeking souls pressing passion filling the hole and completing this role, a goal, to reach down and know we’re whole

we were good then

i didn’t worry

and never had time to notice

the crumpled bandana 

you carried

in your back right pocket