What Isn't There

I'm there. In long shorts. In the camouflage of spoiled hearts. Blurs of decision filtering through the words. In a logic puzzle of I can't count. Bottles like limbs negotiating the traumas of touch. Little explosions that kill so much.

Swimming through the appetites of people. Disguise by disguise. Tossed into the mask they've discarded. Confined by the roles they've been assigned.

He walks into my life in only his underwear. Leaving fully dressed.

And I know the flaw must be within me. But still. It could be anywhere.

There are so many holes in this bucket. I could've spilled so much anywhere.

Find the puddles. Find the mess. And that is where I must've fallen. Where I can be recovered.