and I guess it looked
bad or looked–– how boyish
I pick plums from a tree in your backyard for breakfast
and brush the fur off with my nightgown.
I misread “so many people killing it this month”
as “so many people killing this month.”
like ~ the space between magnets
He is ryegrass. The voices of his heart like tensed wings; ripples in the serum of a stoppered vial. Death is the only word in any language sleeping won’t spoil.