Tin Foil

It gets harder to look at your pictures now, not just the ones with you offering a smile in a misdirectional way, not just the slope of your shoulders in east coast sunlight, not just the way you straighten your tie with perfect pearl fingers. Drive me back across Ohio, I dare you, I leave breath there that has a special kind of fear on its tips. The smell of radiators burning your blankets and my skin, I desire to be lost in an epiphany this autumn, to understand my own rapture and reasoning. I am content, I am at peace now. Part of my swallowing hard is meant to tell you I’m not sure if this is enough.


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