sweating palms pushed against fabric;
bits of someone caught between fingers-
someone writes about
relevance and hesitance and hysteria
and pushes their palms against fabric,
separated parts of someone from
the portion of that which has unraveled.



artificial bulbs pinken a room;
someone has the
nerve to blush at the framework-
someone writes about
panic and anguish and bitterness
and brushes their hip against a nightstand,
sewing drunk secrets into verses and
chanting their correspondence to
a moon in a window.



a sloppy mess of blankets form a pile;
bits of someone caught under the covers-
someone writes about
homelessness and destitution and hurt
and kisses open mouthed visitors,
tracing teeth with tongues and
knotting a grip in hair to
hide a hand that trembles.



someone writes about the five stages of grief,
a sloppy mess of what
you love forms a boulder on your rib cage;
someone writes about a bed and a rock and a pebble
and wants more from the
untouched sheets
than gravel under bare feet.