233. None.

I will try to breathe life into a thing
until it rots beneath my lips.
The ceiling crackling above our heads -
is this when it happens?
Another chain around the neck
of the half year when our names went
from mouth to mouth
to palm, to secret,
to jar under the bathroom sink
where they would echo across the porcelain,
shooting into our stomachs each time
our apartments were too empty.
Vicious little arrows.
October came tumbling in and by then
I was a warrior.
I said I was prepared
for your presence.