in a heat of yellown and brown
I damp everything quickly
so all holds moisture overnight
I smudge my hands
making the oil even all over
and I start to run
run fast to my home
to clean for people I love and people I don't know
I'm so happy I could cry right here on this metro bench
does it matter the things we said that day?
does it matter the things we will say on another?
I feel alive now and I'm excited to see people smile in my kitchen
I love it when she comes into my room when we are unwell
I might never be able to tell her in the right way
composing a language from all of my pasts and all of hers
they may not translate
but if I can feel the love I have for her in the eyes of a stranger
I know my time with her has been a free fall
down a path where we are living in our souls pocket
writing love letters and hate letters
in our head like its an occupation
spilling them out on our white tile floor
moping and only spreading things around more
at least its even all over
at least its both of ours