sharp sharp sharpedges in concreteyour edges used to be that way.
sometimes in the nightthough your skin was tanned and softyou were gone and to touch you was to hurtin the sheer knowledge of the nothing I would ever get in…
I’m in love with youhere in May so removedfrom the pre-snow November when we tumbled in rotting leaveshungry.
Our May love is something new.
Some days are short with hours like wind
still others are carts of bricksheavy to drag.The in-between days somehow feeleven longer than the long onesand the length of eachis determined by coffee.