With leaves tacked to my wall, you would make me
whole again. Jack's mannequin
and the crisp of your nose, the air and that mixed tape you made for me.
Your new perspective.
Did we share that tea for us, or
for something bigger than our heads? Like a new page,
you then floated at me, and I was a turtle.
Our cowardly eyes were mocked, and beaten,
but you were still alive.
We loved love and hated fate,
skipping the dates and having sex next to fans. I cried
like you did, and you might not now
and I don't either, but we're not blind to the wind.
My car had so many miles left to go, and I
can't wait to use them to flower up another house
with that book open.
Like a poem, it ends, but doesn't.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment