Q.

I wrote a poem ’bout you once, didn’t mention your skin so you didn’t read it, what makes this different, what makes this the time the admissions aren’t just warm exhales on the Chicago winter sidewalk where you see your vapor fears materialize, teeth chattering breaking the silence in between our thighs, I wanted to know I could love without walls but I forgot the chains came too, accessorize our armspan lovesong. I knew you 4% of my life so far, we calculated, now you analyze what anecdotes you can pull out like whispers in braille. The third thing she ever told me was I am a knee-knocker, you had trouble unlocking yours to jump, stiff//straight with joints fused red hot reminders of my blowtorch call outs. I am a knockout, fight for life like we’re holding on by the tips when really we’re being buried. She is beautiful and we are everything, so keep moving back to the dark doorway you entered through.

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