appropriately, it’s when your heartbeat is in my ribs
and when you’re closer to me than I am that I
can’t think more than small thoughts, pointless ones, like
I love you and it’s a nice day, but

I think I’m building walls again

I walk off, you stay where you are and protest but I’m thinking,
really thinking, more than silly closed commentary
about the weather and the color of your eyes
(same, neutrally, as mine) and I can’t
quite see why it matters so much after all—worse I know
it should, you should, everything should, I should be curled
up and crying like my shoulders want me to, with the worth of the world
and how much you care
but I hold still, quiet, calm down and take deep breaths and miss you
viscerally

illogically, considering I just convinced myself you’re nobody, but
not being you and not being with you and tangled up and coiled tight with you and
listening, watching
with you and listening to you, or just feeling you talk,
I can’t hardly feel but that you’re not there
and I can’t wait for you again and (for once) something has weight and has presence
maybe you’re even real.

I’m not used to connections
but you’re a good distraction