Would you feel brilliant if I touched you> cuatro > the number of times I lifted my head up and saw you walking through my life in falling leaves and smells that cling to my clothes
not in an Abercrombie way
or Nordstrom with the piano
I dream you.
I dream the way you stick your foot in the door
hold out your hand and grab me
you make me swim intoxicated in your leftover heart
WHAT?
the smell was dizzying like
beautiful almost
the way city lights hit my eyes?
I don't know.
I feel whole? Taking time to love the fall-apart.
Loving the girl you leave me for
to be fragile, I am so wonderfully good at sitting by
myself in the holy, stale and biting temperature
of the middle.
Lately it's about strawberries and what we remember to be church and God and the way we cry when we are so happy that we keep wearing shoes and socks. You love me, you love me, you love. Like corrected vision and the door swings open, we are here.
We hear.
We hear when you are sobbing and when you're laughing.
We hear the past and how it soaks the future with honey and something soft that weighs down your arms. How you keep running in pink socks.
You thought no one saw them in your shoes.
You thought they were ankle socks.
But we keep going! LOVE. We keep rummaging for the
truth.
We found it in empty 12 packs, somewhere at the bottom. We are the night and the morning and the hour that everyone despises.
Glue. I am the longest responses to the letters you've been writing. The complaints you've been lodging and the tired way you rub your eyes in the morning.
As if,
it would some how do.
To be here, me and you.