Choking on the steam of your neck, salty and uncontrollable.
See the knife in your eyes and educated desire that spreads

out my resume, to know the details. I will not be in your woods,
or hall of fame and I will hesitate at my hesitation continuing

to construct. Agelessly satisfied with the holy life on pragmatic
knees, asking forgiveness, she litigates dialogue like a courtroom.

Wanting to touch his response, she knew that he could take her
in the digital art museum, moving quick through the months,

preparing the water on the boulevard and signing in the book,
presence. A nickname that weighed rocks on a driveway with

questions never to be answered like the theater that sits high,
above, center attendance. I saw your hair through the window,

staring at your stir-fried thighs that fuck and flaunt. Listen,
each time talk pressures ears, in years, I will forget much of

this. I will forget seeing all last week. I will forget the avenue
by the bus stop. I will forget penetrating pavement. I will

forget your new balance and each step is a step further from
you. I saw my face in a door on a passing car, passing dirt

streets, sweeping away the day, as a passenger sat squarely
with defrost on full. His face wrinkled, leaning back scratching

his head, thinking about how to say, goodbye.