The Little Fish

He gloated in the rhyme of indecision. Buoyed by the paranoia of sex. He took off the glove and wore her closer. In hurried jabs. In a fragile vase of utopia that was broken before he let it go. The prison of happiness coming into focus one fuck at a time.

The arithmetic of love calculating our parts. In numbers too small. In fractions of skin. To decimals too precise. To lies we never had the chance to tell. The numb of the future. Needles stabbing their pictures into empty eyes.

The pull of the past. Like a run in your stockings. The sour of the future. Like some phantom pregnancy. Bloated with all the things you thought you wanted.

Calm because you know the abortion is coming.

The little fish in a big net. The little fish biting down on the big hook. The little fish in the big ocean.