“hey” is the only thing you say
pressing your hand against the doorframe
and leaning in
looking past me as if you would see anything different, but it's all the same
nothing has changed except maybe you and me
and whoever decides to fill my body next
the chain on the door covers your eyes
and i can't help think about how different you look
like a stranger; one i wouldn't expect to meet me
at my threshold with groceries in a brown paper bag
now, of course, you only bring me a heart
and say it's nothing
“hey” is the only thing i say,
unlatching the chain, and letting you inside
like i'm letting you drip down my throat
i busy my hands with the locks,
the locks i put there, at first, to keep you in, and then, eventually, to keep you out
but now it seems, to anybody watching this exchange between our worlds,
like i put them there
to keep my back turned to you,
to avoid you while you spread out on the couch
and let all your dead-eyed visions collect on the coffee table
“hey” is the only thing you say
when you notice the missing ash tray,
the one you used to use as a church,
where each burnt shell was an empty prayer,
and each smoke tendril was a hand to send it up to heaven
now it's just a black spot engrained in the wood
now you're just a black spot engrained in the wood
some things did change, i guess, but nothing as much as the two of us.
i remember when our old bodies fit together so well,
and how they rested so easily right where you’re sitting
i remember when i shared that smoke with you and helped you send it up to wherever you wanted it to go
i want to talk to you about that smoke, now, among other stupid, half-symbolic things that i'm not entirely sure you’d understand or even remember,
but i don't. instead i finish with the locks, which are also stupid and symbolic, and spread out next to you on the couch
i wish i had my own dead-eyes visions to unload next to yours, but then i remember that i left all of mine
somewhere inside of you
“hey” is the only thing i say, and sometimes, its the only thing i can say.