her in the uplight.
her in the
filtered air, the coffee-pot whistleless
the cheap silence.
it’d cost us so much more to speak.
her always asking.
up where she shouldn’t be.
her always being.
the perceived permanence.
and how do i say, “oh,
sorta make me blink differently” when i mean
not at all i’m so
busy trying to keep you visible
see, darling, i’m so silver and so heavy
i’m about to make the ocean bleed
you don’t want a thing to do with me