Sweetly stomach-sick
again.
Plummeting back into
my puzzle-piece niche
among more notes in the same key.
We’re a messy chord,
played by masterful,
but drunken hands
on a piano
wavering on the brink
of broken intonation.
Just close enough to make
you want to sing
along
and hold the right notes in your throat
bring the decibels up
to a thrum,
vibrating in my chest that
calms down the sick
in my belly.

It feels good-
in the most nerve-wracking way
to look at you looking at me
like that again.