Do you think of me as oft as I, you?
You make me so blue, so blue, so blue.

Fresh sheets out the wash, and a pillow sham or two:
My bed wrapped in a soft blue, a soft-soft blue-blue.

I wait on my porch in a dress so brand new.
I match the sky, we are bathing in blue.

Tears on my dress, on my sheets, on your knees,
You wrap me and dip me in blue, blue, blue, blue.

i am overzealous and underwhelming. i say somethings and i regret them. i say nothings and i wish i hadn't. i am weighted and unbalanced. i place value where i think it belongs. i lean heavy into things for too long. i am uncertain and so sure. i run out of thoughts before my heart runs out of feelings. my thoughts run over and overwhelm my heart. i am liminal and concrete. im incomplete but hoping i could be.

pressedpressedpressed so tightly to your chest,
i scratched and clawed and clung and held on.
your hand under my sleeve, up my shirt,
so tender, it hurt to look at you.
we lay in the dark blue of the night,
so silent, i might cry,
you pressedpressedpressed your chest so close to mine;
all my nerves fired at once.

I don’t speak french but I’d do it for you,
On your skin, tongue and lips
If you wanted me to.

Magma, molten, amorphous.
My blood is red hot
And searing, bursting
Out of its confines.
My heart is caustic,
Compulsive, incongruent.
I erupt over and over,
I wonder
When I will run out of earth to chew up and spit out.

I spit up words and swallow them over again.
I'm starving for any concept, any notion of myself.
Is this how I operate? Is this how I communicate?

I make prints in the soil and them to match my feet.
I'm trying to prove my own existence over any and all else.
Is this where I tread? Are my steps that weighted?

I touch bodies and am touched back in turn.
I wish I understood the matter that I occupy.
Will I know myself in time? Could I love myself in time?

Of nothing, I am sure.

The tremble of your lips grasping at the idea of sound, of sentences.
What is there to share, what to make of secrets?

The soft, swift, brief touch of our knees,
The recoil that follows immediately.

The pattering of your voice over the chatter of the shop
making the mundane a private, intimate affair.

The way you shifted in your seat next to me,
Concerned with the space you and I and we were occupying.

The tentative nature of your suggestions,
How you watched and waited for me to lead.