the war I slouch in when I am not trying
how I lie down at night when no one is up against me
my trying spine curved and tense
suddenly sending shockwaves throughout
as you tell to me stories (
delusions, rather) of things that ‘might still’ be

to occur, I would first tell you to step back from the moment
to forget about my breath on your neck or the way
you hate when I, apathetic, roll over;
let your body let go of my hands and do not see me
sprawled like a canvas across where we sleep

then picture yourself everywhere where we have been
but leave me out and only take in my voice along the wires
if that would be enough until time would allow us to be one; 
if I were to occur, that is how it would be, and what you would do

I never occurred back in bitter and feral times of longlust and 
dizzy smiles dancing and scorching hot, cider down our throats, 
we liked it while it stayed hot, maybe an hour or two, then it
turned out to be nothing new,

and, (folding up the paper cups)
we tossed out dripdrops of — LOVE — don’tsayit, you/did


One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.