A friend yelled at me, "Stop writing poetry " in response to my navigating lost, broken, and misappropriated love. I didn't stop. Everything is in the pieces. We ghost and fragment ourselves to each other in the pieces. Salty-sweet, bent-edged, lung-filled, finger and tongue moments of life and each other. Whether they're glittered pieces or some flesh of a shoulder of a person we devour when we fall in love.