We tore our misunderstanding
in two abrasive stories

...... flakes of sour air

kept our own half
just like Saint Martin
but the other way around

...... between us: the shredder

we just took our right with us
it was so much work to do it away

...... up to three pieces at a time

rather we armed ourselves
under the skin, the gloss
shone through it

...... do not touch me