A
splinter
through
my
tongue
silences
the
tastes
of
thought.

The rhythm
of
a heartbeat
at
the base
of
a throat
parallels
the
water’s
waves

I
still have
black
paint stuck
in
my hair
from
that
night when
we
shared
our
breaths.

Don’t
you
dare tell
anyone,
but I
opened
my
window
on
a chilly
day
to
hear the
grackle’s
song.

The
cold’s
teeth will
bite
my skin,
and
its
tongue will
taste
my sweat.

And
the steel
hits
my tongue
with
the
taste
of
remorse.

Even
when
the
absence is
insufferable
you
still
stay.

So
I had
this
dream right
after
you
left.
You were
sitting
and I
was
laying on
my
stomach.
On
impulse, I
grabbed
your
ankle and
you
looked at
me
curiously.

Nothing else.

Maybe
it’s the
crush
of
skin and
nail
that
bites my
thoughts.

You’ve
stepped
into the
highly
reflective
section of
the
supermarket.