smoked enough cigarettes that I could count on my face turning red
blaming it on the sun.
She looks at me from not very far away, shoulder brushing against shoulder,
but I can't hold contact.
I may be looking at your eyes, but I'm thinking about my face
with blood vessels too close to the skin, to the surface, to your line of vision.
In the morning my mouth moves how my circulation would talk, and my muscles contract like how my self esteem functions. I talk loud and fast , mumbling without saying anything , paranoid of their absence of acknowledgement, spilling coffee on my bed for the one millionth time this month.
There are too many things that need doing, too many anxieties for time needed for healing, to much harm that needs reducing.
I think afternoons are meant for rooftops, and this heat is meant to set us running from its lashing flames. If we can't leave the city we need to crawl higher. Heat rises, but these mornings send me escalating in a pulse much faster.
How's it possible I've come full circle all over again? How is it possible for these dizzying seasons to be so cyclical?