Turbulence

Two of Pentacles Reversed

this,
she and I
dialogue that
 fishes its upstream flight
engages with all
 
the wrong turns, 
 
uses ghost limbs as reasons to drown
 
                            I and she and you 
are echoes 
of the severed 
hand that wiggles at the thought
of a handout out or a kiss
 
every blackened smile 
                                  is a reminder
to get to memorizing
         to finish what I and she 
                                                started
when she and I 
were in it 
                               for the right reasons
now the wrong reasons 
 
it is all poisoned
defiant
when she and I,
when SHE and I
remain reclused 
infused
and under the strict rule
of her and mine own diction
 
I speak to hear myself be right
I speak to know that you are wrong
I am my own worst she, 
she is the worst version of
me