i’m all
bramble and hair
outside of your window,
my wounds pasted on your branches.
been watching you cook,
evolve
in her kitchen,
into something worth touching
for longer than minutes.
I’m devolving;

nails clawing at the stamp.
lower lashes leaking like
little pens
splashing on the loose leaf
when they should have been
planted on your cheek,
when they should have been asleep
on your elbow,
when they should have been evolving
into something worth
touching softly
for hours.

closed,
body tangled in words,
skin ripped at the seams,
veins trickling
low utters,
sighs,
some red hot lies,
sloppy adjectives,
big ideas about our reconciliation
delivered to your doorstep
in hopes you
remembered
the last time i moaned
under you
letting out a little
more

how i promised you
a little
more.

“the envelope”

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