My Pocket’s Full of Holes, but It Feels Like Someone’s Sewn Rocks in the Hems of My Jeans

i 
i put you in my left front pocket; 
you wore a hole 
through to my skin 
and left burn marks 
all over 
the landscape of my thighs 

ii 
i wrote you poetry; 
the words 
cascaded from the page 
before i could get them to tell you 
how i felt, 
melted like a raging candle 
burning through the last lengths 
of its wick, 
sputtered 
and died 

iii 
i swore off love and left it in a corner; 
i kept walking by 
looking at all the dust 
and neglect 
but somehow couldn't clean it up, 
so i let the spiders 
call love home 
call love theirs 

iv 
i picked up love to read a chapter;
i realized i hadn't read you 
all the way to the end, 
wondered 
if that was deliberate 
or if it was because you got bored 
of our book club 
after you'd dogeared choice sentences 
took them out of context 
and decided we were a metaphor 
you didn't want to decipher. 
i'm still intrigued 
but wondering 
if this thing will end in a cliffhanger 

v
i wear a mask now, hoping my eyes bridge social distances;
 i've been guarded 
weighted 
too tired to emote.