do you look at her in awe is she speckled with the stars the way the blinds make light, pinstriped, her lips are candied her clothes are chiffon wrappers and her elbows make you sing to the high, high
our college lists intersect only once and i wonder if i can take that as a metaphor for the way our lives will run parallel to each other but never, again, perpendicular and i wonder if the thought will ever cease depressing me.
i make a fat joke about myself and "i don't ever wanna hear you say something like that again," he says he asks if i am unclear as to why and i want to ask if he is unclear as to why i made it in the first place.
old oaken tables I'll love you in dark roast coffee and steamed milk with honey, against quilted beds early morning in the loft, when the sheets are loud and the floorboards aren't awake, when the windows are dewy, we won't speak about our mistakes.