Like I am treading lightly on snow wanting to leave no prints.
Like feeling my hand tense up holding a pen too tightly, and then wringing it out.
Like pouring water into a glass and seeing it drip down the pitcher’s outside.
Like the hum of a middle-letter against my teeth.
Like the words used explaining something to a stranger’s child.
Like feeling cloth on a body part that can’t feel.
Like touching my lips with a hand that’s asleep.
Like the compressed air noise before I shut the last bit of car window.
Like the hot metal radiator lines denting my skin.
Like fabric marking my cheek when I sleep.
Like the low of my back hot after a nap
Like trying to find a cozy way to lean in my coat.
Like the silence when an unnoticed heater shuts off.
Like the way dried wet-paper wrinkles and stands.
Like a tea bag set out from steeping, now cold.
Like sucking on a lemon slice, and swallowing a seed.
Like listening to filter noises underwater in the pool.
Like the screeching of a T car dulling to a rumble.
Like a sigh after a confession.
Like the sound a fly makes hitting a wall.
Like not remembering what day of the week it is out of school.
I like it.