Jealousy of the First

With this intimacy

I am frisking, searching

for the past companions.

And forage traces of theirs

Like foreign fingers,


the blueprints

of abandoned buildings.

With his palmstroke

I am undone, unravelled

of my own insecurities.

And mould my body to his

Like two reeds


scaling the body

of our home.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

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