whenever you breathe out... I'm breathing in.

I keep dropping sizes.

And the tailor can't keep up.

With a heart that swells and starves.

Taken out.

Taken in.

Left out.

The threads hang like reminders

that it never really fit.

But we shared that love in the in-between.

I was used to we, siamese.

- from the desk of S. C. Browne