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?