Tell me I’m not for you

Tell me I’m not for you,
the fleeting ideas of what we have said,
memories lacking ink,
no verbatim,
will fade as records in the sun,
as will we with the thin hands of round marked faces,
fade into creases within ourselves

Swallowed into our own mouths with
fiber dissolved in water
and pills greater than an iris.

These things will and can come to breeze through time.
So tell me I’m not for you,
tell me we lack constance
say with your new teeth and
tight skin that our viscous
souls have not become some
heterogenous fluid,
pushing course round and cubic
in the corners of our veins

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