—IT’S OKAY IF YOU DON’T HAVE IT ALL FIGURED OUT
All the answers are rotting under the stairwell. Syringes and pluck. Stray teeth and toenails. We were going to be astronauts or performance artists, lovers who mean it. But we became dust instead, blowing on each other just to know we were there.
Pieces
My lover is guileless. She has a mirror face, which means she has mine. She lets it collect dust and dribble, fissures. She shows me all of the different people I can become if I just align the pieces that won’t stop lying.
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