Descriptions

Told me I was sunlight and strawberries

on his tongue, but I don't

see it. Can't taste

conviction.

I am lemons and silence. Rusted radiators

forgotten in garage corners. The spots

behind your eyes when you close them.

Lies. The feeling

when you drop a plate. When it hovers in limbo

and you think perhaps this time,

this time I will catch it. And it shatters. Anxiety.

Mosquitos on perfect summer nights. So fucking

much anxiety. A car crash, four seconds

before it occurs. Bees.

Papers crumpled in bottoms of purses

and backpacks. Pennies. Atheist prayers. Sunrises

too cold to go out and watch. The mirror.

A song you played twenty too many times.

And I could keep on going,

but it never serves either of us.