Sometimes I awaken with a shard of glass in my hand.
Sometimes there's a picture of their carpenter on it
...and sometimes it's lodged into someone's throat.
"But you were never right", I said.
Given enough time, I could recreate the universe
using nothing but your facial expressions.
"You were never right", she replied
"but being wrong just the right number of times amounts to the same thing".
I would touch you if I could.
The absurdity of the act could nourish me for centuries.
"You have the eighth day", she smiled precariously
"I did promise you that"
And yet we both know...