Recycling

You are burgundy, I am in bloom. I want to turn these glass pieces into a mosaic, my breath in between the tiles, our blood on the corners, your lips on mine, our intentions nowhere to be seen. I imagine you, is that what you want to hear? I am restive, you are rage. Your voice in stereo, lilting; my voice like bass, boom in your heart. Wrap my fingers in twine, I just want to remember what it’s like to be so needed, so physically close that I cannot move without waking you from another room in the house. When I sweat out , up from the ground, I want you to kiss my neck, when I cry out oceans I want you to touch my roots and say, “In five years this will not matter, I will not matter, we will all be gone from this place.” Your smile brings this all back.

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