over already

This is where the day would have us. The dusty lampshade and the complaints of political ads. The sported hopes, and the ubiquitous skin. Sore joints and the sins of our fathers. The playbook where you have to pass. These selves left unrevealed. These habitual revels, and compelling celebrants.

Here’s the hour of your acknowledged absence. Here’s the time of remaindered lusts and edited memory. A flush, a flash, the thrill of life renewed. These vivid wishes and bitter seasons. The gap between the days we share and my weeks in solitary. A smudge of messages sticking to a screen. The takeaway texts.

Spun of the resin of dust and plasma, the flesh a map of stressors and habitats, you lean into the wind. You speak softly, your tongue slick with symbols, the bitter dose, the daily alms. I imagine you always embedded in my longings. Stiff to the limb, sore to the oratory. You the wish, you the glimmer. The taste of saying your name aloud.