Sunday, August 29, 2010

Process

I left the windows rolled down
for days to see if you would notice,
and the only word you said was hold
me, I wasn't there though.
The roof of my mouth is shallow
and numb from chewing on ice
all evening: the air conditioner
broke long after you collapsed
onto my bed, which is most likely
a sign that you should have been
living without fear of the heat,
limb-broken attachment,
or slim beads of crystalline regret,
which I touched with one finger.
Our dreams enclose us these days,
all of us, even the ones who
thought they were loved by you.
In truth, we've all got a lot more
growing up to do.

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