a kiss behind
a veil of
mist,
you never
noticed
from too safe
a distance,
but now we’re inside
where its clear
and dry
and still can’t find
each other’s
eyes.
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hands clasp, just as
you pass,
keep on, nothing
to see
in chest cavities
of many
swells a cunning
curiosity,
and i’m really no
no different
though i try not
to stare.
kitchen chair still
holds your
shape,
though you’ve gone
missing for
all days..
turn grey now
sun won’t
reach
you
as much as i’d
love to.
stale paint
cracks in sunlight,
settling into
today
in a way that negates
time
reminding me that
i’m not
here
and you’re not real
though you
appear.
a pumpkin
smile,
gent tilts his
head,
as if his turn
in game,
on chipped tooth bench,
lunch clasped
in palm,
cloaked in
trees,
shaded by
leaves,
knows not where
he’s from
or how he’s come
to be..
so infant-eyed
and free.
bonfire of dead
letters
unearthed and
torched–
sending specters to
their slumber,
we
breathless
blowing embers,
may dawn reach us
where we
shiver,
eyes shaded out
by smoke.
madness gnawing at
the feet
of under city
baring
teeth,
sunk eyed nursemaids
wiping drool,
coma pools
in split wide streets,
polluted by stale breath
beliefs,
uncover mirror,
face new
dawn,
unclasp chain of
nights gone
wrong.
my face like a
freezer,
stuffed with tv
dinners,
cooking like a teenager
binging on
tiktok,
this room could use
a dimmer,
this late into the
evening,
i don’t feel like
eating..
so i chew on
rocks.
juice drips from
a bite mark
just as healing
begins,
blue bruise beneath
the words
i lose..
wiping wetness
from my
chin.
i’m not the songbird
you reach
out to
on mornings void
of sound,
to lift you from
same worry
that frames your
wistful frown,
though i may lend the warmth
you yearn for,
when you think to
turn around.
hands in the garden 
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