Eve Rounds

i wrote you a letter

remember when we were laying in bed
and for no reason at all
we switched sides?

we were both reading (the new yorker and some obscure novel), though I don’t think that four words per minute can actually count as reading.

other literature distracted us.
I narrated the stuttering salt of your beard.
you quoted the braille of goosebumps down my neck.
eyes within eyes within scent
told stories.
teeth and tongues sketched
tall tales to skin.
our laughter marked the next chapter.

in a single insignificant moment, my own commonplace inhalation was shared by your equally ordinary exhalation.
eyes within eyes within breath was understood.
sealed with the lyric of our lips.
this is why.this.
remember that?
remember this.
it’s about to happen.


i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards


what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you


sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we


It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.