Because we all go back and forth between the things we want,
the things we need,
the things we are right to own
and the things we can’t ever have:
the now,
our future,
the garbled past
re-written to include more details;
each other’s intemperate tics,
each other’s suns and angry Saturns,
each other’s wasted fortunes
and last dead pets.
Each other’s boredom.
Conversations with yourself
where your self aggrandizement is honored
in your head;
where your victories take lovers,
where you are the empire fist with the
tight grip on slipping sand
and I’m still an apparition
stroking your cheek,
reading the lines on your hands.

I chose a fruit tree over you because
I was starving.
I had an intention.
I believe in nourishment,
self preservation,
monastic devotion.
I sit with my bellyache.
You sit with my ghost.
You believe in pulp cages
taking the shape of
legs
and you can just
eat yourself
out.

There are a few bees,
but no stings.
We are careful.
I watch you at the fountain,
wipe the blood from your chin.
I keep thinking we can meet somewhere
else.

“orchard”

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