Where do we stand?
I don't know.
I feel like I'm falling,
or ground is crumbling,
but you are the one
who ripped the rug out.

Am I yours?
You seemed to say no,
and then walk yourself back
from that precipice
I didn't know I was standing on.

I suppose,
it would be wisest
to warm an iron in the fire
and press it to my heart,
If I am wrong about your thoughts,
I can always discard that burned
but now un-wounded skin later.