What We Became, by Nan Wigington

Love was this – a shatter of hands, a fist of hair, a hunger for hurt. I became a wall. You became a dish. You broke on impact, but I bled. I became the fire. You the water. How you sizzled, flew away. I became stone floor. You were acid spilled. See how my cheeks melt. Then I was the window, you the rotten frame. I cracked. You were the door. I became the wind. I slammed you. Open. Shut. You unhinged, became a back, a retreat, a gone. I steadied, became a stomach, a hand, a so long.