Your niceties
Match mine
They’re not yours
As mine are not owned by me
Hanging on your fathers wall are glass memories
They’re so fragile, as are his beliefs in you
And your belief in me
Sits wanting behind the mirror
Yet those holes
Not recognised but undeniable
Those holes to bathe burnt toes
Offer such comfort and shelter for exhaustion
And I’m exhausted by your niceties
And mine
Because all we’re meant to be through tampered eyes
I’m done
So let my fingers bind with yours
Within those darkened spots
Your holes
Allow my holes
To be
Crumbs in my belly button 