i miss artificial vanilla
lukewarm coffee
in a backseat cupholder
and spilled out edges
of wax paper.
the trace of burn clings
under fingernails
and brown-clear bubbles
down the bottom of a t-shirt.

my right arm on the windowsill
tightens with a sunburn.
bent neck words
to explain the sun
tracing shapes in acrylic
down the backs of clouds.

a wind-up wind machine
trickles lockpick fingers
through the doors.

i don't want to be here anymore.