at times
the fractures
cause a steady
dissociative
angst where
i cannot tell
where i belong

either reality
is paperthin
or i am shattered
beyond saving

then the city
unfolds for me
and i find myself
on streets filled
with a bitter
soulstarving type
of hunger
as i pass the
places we would
pull off the road
hands and mouths
incapable of
patience as her
hair was in my
fingers and her
tongue was in
my mouth as the
music played along
with the thunder
of our pulses

that is where
i truly belong
in those frozen
moments where
i nearly had
something real
in stolen kisses
fevered moans
on broken streets
which look a lot
like my fucking
discarded heart

no wonder i
dissociatiate
actions from
the meanings

in those brief
instances a fool
actually existed
following a trail
a paperthin echoes
of purloined passions