state of being

I don’t want to talk

about politics, about how they

move money around like toys

kicked across the floor, back and forth

I don’t want to listen

about what’s happening beyond

your five windows and single door

cases confirmed in our county now

and what does that mean for us, on the ambulance

what do I want, you ask—is it so difficult

to see? That I only want to hear

your voice decorating me with words

I haven’t heard in months, it seems

how you love me so, can’t live without

my kisses peppered upon your brow

it’s been ages since you pushed

your tongue down my throat

since I laughed against your flesh

since I choked on contentment; now you pretend

I’m not sobbing in the bathroom

hiding under the sound of running 

water. That semi-colon on my finger

well, if I press the point just so, 

it punctures skin, a drop of crimson

and I stick it in my mouth to taste

something more than my own tears

I never told you the conversation I had

with my sister over dinner. We plunged

tortilla chips into rice & beans, my sister

dribbling another complaint about her boyfriend

how he’s too traditional and can’t comprehend

pro-choice, body piercings, tattoos and I—

I remarked how you are just the same

she said, biting down on a chip


‘I swear, if we ever break up,


I’m going to be a lesbian’

my reply was swift and easy; it was thoughtless:

‘I just haven’t found the right woman yet’

and I wonder, sometimes, if that’s true?

are you just my placeholder? 

in the face of our silence, 

the mornings, afternoons, evenings that pass

without a glance, without your hands

gripping my hips, pushing past bands of elastic

it is hard to know


it is hard to know

what I’m waiting for,

the beam of your smile

or the courage to walk

through your single door

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