we narrowly averted disaster last night
by dancing around the issue,
two moths around a dangerous flame,
but our flame is kept alive only by
immersion in a greater fire.

six times we will repeat the dance.
on the seventh, one of us will falter
and her relentless line will become unspeakable,
or I won't be able to lie by omission,
and for a moment we'll both be compelled
to admit we can't stand each other.

my world gets less stable as I get
closer to loss of control; the ground
shakes beneath me, and it
shakes beneath her, and I can't help
but hurt those around me as though
I enjoy watching.

I'm no voyeur of pain, and
my pleasure is not derived from anything,
for it is lacking.