We can’t even fit together,
jig or saw,
Now that together dulls,
none more to-get-her
Tries—while closeness puzzles, (de)positing
Consolations only, familiar-apartness-pain.
We could douse ourselves in motor oil,
Only slippery we can sough how we
Can’t-even-admit, “bang” like “pistons” or
Euphemisms rattling trite as platitudes
And pennies flupping in Solo cups.
What is this inexorable need to yoke,
Daisy chain our days, and thread
Memories stale as popcorn blinking light
On Christmas trees?