You enjoy the way
spit trickles from the corner of a
mouth, the hard-edged lines of sulfur on skin,
carbon monoxide in lungs and
smeared red on teeth from the cherry you ate
with the pit still inside, it sits on your tongue and waits to be swallowed,
the same way I wait for spring to end
at the well of a bus stop, on my knees in the dirt,
pulling out weeds from my chest and anything else
that has the slightest resemblance to you. I dream of
running until the muscles in my legs disconnect from my hipbones, joints
tearing, the sky the color of blue similar to your eyes, but not quite; of chlorine-induced heart attacks at the bottom of a pond in winter where
the ice cracked and the sign said you weren't supposed to swim there but you did anyway because people have ears
but they don't know how to listen. Flies buzz around decaying fruit left to rot
in a cracked bowl, it's shameful that everything goes to waste, I've wished to sell
your painting of a boat stranded on shore but have no actual desire
to put a price tag on it.