choice words with the bots at work about the weather.
they tell me the moisture makes their joints stick together.
they want to wait until the rain passes
so we collect overtime and talk about cassius.

i drink my last
and watch your shape through the glass
the persuasive nature of that mosaic
still sneaking sips as crisp as apple cinnamon
speaking snippets in the mist, i’m listening
you live in villages adorned in little trinkets
i wonder if they think of your lips
and begin to grin again

the day i found myself inside
the gentle graveyard of your eyes
i feel a certain sense of longing
for an analog state of mind
the rims around the windows dimmed
by grey clouds passing by
we serve to remind each other
why we chose to die

steam-powered, i’ve seen the towers
both of them, miles and miles and miles
and miles and miles away
i keep checking everyday

do you still read how you did back then,
standing up, whenever you can.
do you still grace the streets of seoul,
hand in hand with a four year old.
does my name come up in talks with friends.
do you still have trouble sleeping in.
do you still go on walks with that little dog.
do you still make french toast the way i taught.

do you still stay so ******* patient
when a man pushes past your limit.
do you still despise the way you waited.
does your world still turn without me in it.