Were your feet planted in
the same place i discovered you?
Once
our arms touched like it was nothing
skin rubbing lovingly and unaware of the ugliness coming
blue lips locking and
peeling off the plastic
covering the carton we courageously collected
our breath in

We see stars inflating,
baking and heaving
We feel floods rushing
around our ankles and
into our woolen socks
pushing too much and
cringing for the pop

Reluctant and rooted
Suited for a funeral
never scheduled
I search for you underground
only to find a chest
inked with a Japanese dragon
broken lock burnt off and open
the black lungs of a drag in
stained with golden tobacco
wooden bolts with roses
angled against me
I vine up the veins of your attention
and beg you to stay for breakfast

fast forward

into an album stored under the China we will never use
or look at
Twenty seven photos and twenty seven guests
and two hands to flip through the laminated past
and one hand to count the days that they’ll last