Unmaking #NaPoWriMo – Day 26

As the dark sky turns to a livid bruise

you strip me with words and silences

of all my little lies, my comfortable vanities.

Always, at first, there is the little hesitation,

the cusp of night where levity teeters

like a coin tossed up into the airless void.

Your razor fingered grasp of the moment

slices dawn into bloody leaves of the past,

filmstrips of memory viscera.

Then the fall, the deep plunge into

the fearsome landscape of things

we don’t whisper to the sun.

I trust your surgeon’s tongue

to my unmaking and the sutured

spectre of a resurrection.

It’s not comfortable companionship,

my mad friend, my reluctant predator,

but it’s a worthy one.