my favorite part of drinking coffee every
morning is a swig of strawberry-stamped nerve
it’s a ritual to feel a dream where i am soft and i am snow
i forgot to water a plant and i killed it
i overwatered a plant and it died
what i’ve learned is that love is an act of violence
she hides in questions like how was your day and do you miss me too
how do we forgive ourselves for the things we did not become?
for a while, i thought i’d read a chapter before curb-checking
for a while, i conflated nights alone with lonely nights
here’s where i blur into you –
someone always has to leave first
what if we lost ourselves so that we could find each other?
what if we never become?
i’ve curated my life therefore it is mine and
i will do with it what i want
shred my coordinates with a serrated spoon
stargaze under a guillotine
panic in rooms lined with fruit-skinned walls
the worst part about peeling a grape is the crack in your windshield
i am avoiding you
to avoid me
cooking pasta for two somewhere in a balmy kitchen
over a sun-kissed stove
there is nothing so humiliating as imagining yourself alive
able to let go of dead things
how do i convince you we are easy to swallow
how do we let go of a dead thing?