like the bit of celery stuck in your back
teeth tickling your tongue and tonsils
like the end of a joint, pinched between
quarters burning lips and fingers
like a suicide note, written but never
sent an eternal “what if”
like never saying the words you
meant and never getting another chance
like memories that keep me awake
at night alone more present than ever
like the worn hem of a dress
dangling dangerously, darting between knees
do we tie them up? do we cut them off?
do we remain immune to the nagging,
the imperfection, the lack of closure?