Eve Rounds

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
our volcanos over the dining room table
past past now pssst
gratefulness
oh yeah i forgot that i am lucky.
greatness
truly.
better to have loved and lost…ok
but
truly.
BUT

this rotting yoke of numbness and lava
tongue pressed between my molars
an indentation of purpose
handwriting worse than his or his
but lacking his shape his zest

but wrote this okay

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

love

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

noise

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

Twins

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.