“why do you think I am
pretty,
         max?”
max is tired—
he’s falling
        asleep.
I am racing—
I’m falling
        apart.

“max?
why do you think I am
        pretty?”
max’s fingers
find the waves in my
        hair.
my fingers
find the waves in the
        linen.

“why do you think I’m—”
pause.
        “pretty?”
max’s feet
fall against
        mine.
my feet
are falling off the
        earth.

“max?”
nothing more
        follows.
I don’t need to
repeat the
        question.
because max
yawns out the words-- “I
        don’t.”