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the first time i saw you drive
was in york the christmas before last.
i forgot my sunglasses & squinted
at the little circles your thumb
painted on my wrist with your
free hand. you apologized
for the cheap date: tacos and a matinee,
for the stale-smelling red roof room,
for your family home.

there was no need.
i still miss this little weekend of ours,
when we were raw,
before you knew
me too well.
the look that takes you
when i have drained you dry,
materializes images of anyone but me.
how stunning.
june nights end in peace
think of me when the sun comes
oh, be around me
see me,
hear me,
let me pass.

acknowledge me,
make a note,
let me pass.

give me space,
let me wander,
let me pass.

i am not you,
only within you,
let me pass.
this sunless city is my home.
we move together, closer,
waving under the clouds.
they drown us in days
when we pull the covers up
& ache for light,
but once in a while
their drizzle reminds me
of new beginnings
& throwing my arms out wide.
standing on my roof,
feeling my lungs expand.
laughing at nothing,
crying at the same.
the first bite of a peach,
hopscotch on the pavement.
singing at the show,
missing my mother.
cloudy days gently carry
my life back home to me.
I hear three people who want no more of me
pulling at my strings, unmaking me,
though one of them might get over it by noon.
the curtains are on fire, my love,
& the front door has splintered open,
leaving shards of silence sticking
like knives out of the carpet.
each floorboard that wails
with anxious steps
whispers to me
i won't be forgiven,

but you asked me if i missed you
& i said goodbye
to the rest.
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