Eve Rounds

from the douchebag bar

his bare grip strong
encompasses my gloved fingers
his own recent history
the constellations of our
midnight promenade
sleet storms although tepid
freeze my toes
beer bellies although full
crave something homemade
at home
in home
our home
we glide east sharply south
always a direct route
because us
over puddles turned ocean
“we walk so well together”
and yet
and so
we sail still
holding hands
always so very us

but ok but

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

a 5 7 5 for e

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

a poem about you for you (and you)

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

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