beneath my fingers: smooth, polished wood, a breath. and they long to make their way to the still beating of your heart.
there,
there,
almost as if unseeing you look past me to flip a page, to paint color over words you must remember,
yet unremembering---
i am here. sometimes i think you remember me. sometimes, like a shade of crayon appearing randomly in your hand, a soft hushed word. silence. no talk of fleeting butterflies today. no sound of your leavetaking.
there, the long silence of an empty hallway.
(for A)
(in collaboration with jacob dominguez)