The clock has been flashing the wrong numbers for days and I
Nearly missed it,
All the laundry laying in unfolded heaps around my dull heels
Clicking meticulously through rooms,
Makeup brushes brushing against my cheeks,
Tenderness has only ever been foreseen in gestures.
I do not know what it is but I have lost control of my life—
The irony of it,
I thought I was gaining it like tarnished medals thrown into the backs of grandfather closets.
I press on with candles burning on the backs of my eyes,
Looking only at you,
Facing the uncertainties of ever seeing you,
You, you, you.
I recite your name in my head not using your name,
There are better words that fit you much more like
Your tongue fits between your teeth and you’re kind of like that buzzing noise coming
Constantly from all the electricity in a sun illuminated room, unused.
Black, gaping, wild thing,
Tenderness and tenderness and all the gentle postures of cherry blossoms.