When we break, I want the dog,

the heavy-skinned wisdom of age,

the merit badge for marriage survival,

but the car, cat, and furniture is yours.

And after we’ve stopped the everyday vows

to lip-lock out love, empty the fridge of milk,

we will not drink for our health or bones

to bloom solid.  Of our mutual friends, take Cliché.

I’ve seen the steady eyes, the pupils push out,

the empty sign here you stare at heart pulsing.

You could slide into a life together, finger tip

through the folds of settled skin, own love again.