i. the handcuffs my parents lost the keys to 24 years ago. i pray for them to eventually wear away from the weather. i pray for the break. my fingertips are sore from the pressure. my knees are sore from the ground quaking below.

ii. the softness of light grey/white/ginger/dark grey up against my hand. there's a daughter cosmos in her mewl.

iii. the ***** gaze at god i make as smoke leaves my lips. shot glasses clink against my eroded teeth and i hold back bile deep down in the rut of my stomach. i am ugliness to my mother. salvation is written between these walls and i must punch it out for the answers, hit by hit.

iv. the 'baby, i care' from men older than me. this kind spins in circles. when i cry, i'm in downward dog. every. single. time. 
 
v. the warm sunshine that radiates against my skin in the form of his kisses. i lay pallid without him here. sleep feels like a chore in these empty sheets. they fit like a glove to our form. peach cheeks accompany giggles. i linger in the moments where he says 'i love you'.
this is the best kind.