i scrape my foot along the sloping underbelly curve
of barnes and noble's first floor, close enough to the registers to hear the
have a nice day, not close enough to believe it.
i spend a lot of time thinking about what i like
and i have trouble reading the blurry spines of your favorite books.

in case you needed me to set the scene:
a girl with an ill-behaved coat bent over her arm
tapping slowly on her ipod over the books curling into her elbow
sitting on a tiny wooden bench in the children's section,
reading NC-17 fiction.
then, browsing the african studies section
so that she can stretch her peripherals
to the jumping shelves of the gay and lesbian literature
but she flushes so hard she wanders away to breathe,
quietly lets american history collar her.
it calms her down anyway.

i haven't written anything in so long but that doesn't mean that i don't know how.
tell me how words taste when i'm not trying. i know it shows – my attention is somewhere else.
that's not what i'm asking.

i could make you crave any word if i wanted to make you desperate
but i have no commitment and i don't plan on following through on this.

someone make me feel.
expect too much information in the future.