i. COFFEE.  the slight slip of syllables. the turn of your mouth is a place i’ve never been, only dreamt about. i am not alone in this belief. the lyrical syntax of never hold and have, but want in silence, stare at the edge of a cliff and ask me tomorrow if i’d jump off with you. today i don’t have my voice, sold it for lunch money and satisfaction. things are disjointed limbs, but mostly how do you tell a stranger you love them like how houses need attics?  you burst my galaxy with your words, pop the casket of my ice case heart and start a seance where i was once dead, like this you bring me back to life.
ii. CARS. i want to tell you my middle name. the sharp staccato of my father’s voice, the rush of breath i lost when he said clearly, “i should have never gotten married, it was a mistake.” i imagine a car crash in that moment, i hear your screams, isolated, alone, i am reaching out to you wake up, we’re only at lunch and you have a fortune on your forehead. we’re okay. we’re going to breathe and see the sun rise tomorrow, even if it isn’t together.
iii. CONSERVATORY. you with your glass walls and high ceilings, painting the sky with places i’ve never been but want to live in, how do you do that? how do you give me the entire starlit universe in a single verse ? tell me your secrets and i’ll keep them close to my heart, let the black gold ink stain my veins, i will never be able to forget you. i carry your name around my neck like a locket, the photograph of your smile a reminder of what it means to love the ground you stand on.
- CARA, IN THREE OBJECTS (x.v)