after one day at your side
i lie down on my front
and am broken


“if you can get past the smell of it, the taste is pretty good.
and then you walk,
following it like a season, like spring.”

like bees tapping against an east-facing window,
like running from rains that are yet to show themselves.

you ask me to come as i am
enter your room ungilded, unshimmering.
we meet eye to eye
breathing each other’s breath
because it is not a kiss unless our lips touch.

for you i hold my heart in my hands
(a wet fish muscling its way from my grip)
what could it be to make a heart of paper and wax?
dripping and drying and leaving itself on people and things.
is this it?

i want to avoid the feeling i know will follow this,
that it is all going to be behind us one day.

you make me feel as though i am allergic to air
take shallow breaths
i wake up
and still my dreams are only rumours.


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