against the window panes

you’re always demanding a
new me.

you’re sitting on the couch
and complaining.

your voice scratches
against the window panes.

I think that no matter
what we’ve done to each
other (and neither of us
has been fair)

that it is your voice
that is the final unfairness.

all of our betrayals
yours and mine
don’t deserve that
voice.

or
that dark wailing puff of
a face

so sure that the next man
will not do to you
what I did

or have done to him
what you did.

you scratch against the
window panes.

it’s not going to change
and I want to tell you
so.