You Were Reading the Paper Too Calmly (dyed paper, bad lighting, and a royal safari typewriter)
My words read the way
A flower wilts.
And your eyes fall
To the curling vines on the trellis outside.
You pickpocket my mouth
With your hot tongue,
But eggs have fried with less heat.
You act as if you had designed gravity
To lift us from the earth
And I had stitched my feet to the ground
Like a tantrum.
You hunt me.
I have felt bear traps and fish nets
In your fingertips against my cheek.
I wrote us together in this ink
But there is a continent in the coffee table
That separates us in a living room
Too small to have a couch.