perhaps ive been loving u too loudly
filling spaces between my eyelashes w cobwebs of fallacious reassurance
revisiting ur photograph like it would burst into flames on any beat of the ticking of the days routine
revisiting like an elder in the attic
dusting off a wedding gown matching the colour of waste
u are hauntingly present in all of my orders to the sky
so much so that i have come up with code names for u- flood,tomorrow, prayer
tell me about ur time which has fastforwarded me into nothingness
remembered only through the endings of chapters, fallow fields,
compacted me into passages of sporadic uppers or
hallucinagens
whos your pusha
whos number do u dial man
how many frayed sonia sanchez pages
how many laps around the sun
how many origami birds must be dropped from high rises
before i can lower my voice
