but you’re not here to hear.
there are times inside the timelines
all of them
every
single
one
when each direction burns.
i shuffle left
twinge.
i curtsy right
pang.
i bend fowardfuck
what’s that cramp in my heart?
its purpose seems STOOOPID
this route unfamiliar
our compulsion strangled
in this new masked world
no
such
thing
as
movement backwards backwards movement backwards
i stop.
and lace up
the hot pink of my teal sneaks.
what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as
the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to
write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing
peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!
is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would
you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love
