I know that our drunk slowdancing
to the rent soundtrack does not mean
that you will leave your boyfriend,

but the wizard said it would stop the echo.

You are a parcel of sawdust I keep
inside the tin can of my chest, an empty
weight to remind me that I know how

to fall in love. maybe the only story we get

is the way your forehead leaned
against the flat place on my collarbone,
the way we almost kissed, but you

pulled back at the last moment. I could have

burst into tears right then, but didn’t want
you to know that I’m a little less than human
these days. I’ve been cleaved in half & left

to rebuild from the scraps I could find, but I know

you are just a placeholder, the one
who really could have loved me if timing
had been better, if your sawdust heart

weren’t lodged in somebody else’s chest.