I write, then
your words appear quickly
almost out of nowhere,
of nowhere that I'm sure,
from no place I'm
certain exists
My handful of shabby
sentences elicit a flood
and your thoughts engulf
me, engage me, suckle
me on hope like a
starving beast
These, our seasons,
always returning to dances
that we know and we do so
unduly well: I will injure
you—without intent—and
you'll withdraw
again,
until next time
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 11:22 AM UTC
I write, then
your words appear quickly
almost out of nowhere,
of nowhere that I'm sure,
from no place I'm
certain exists
My handful of shabby
sentences elicit a flood
and your thoughts engulf
me, engage me, suckle
me on hope like a
starving beast
These, our seasons,
always returning to dances
that we know and we do so
unduly well: I will injure
you—without intent—and
you'll withdraw
again,
until next time
