Thursday, June 25, 2015


i measured you in the beds
we stole, you measured me using the inch mark
on your arm.

there is a two hour window in the morning where your freckles are florescent
but only in June, you're like
the Little Dipper in that way,
gone in winter-

i sink in on myself
like sand in an hourglass
when i was a child, i used to shake it and make it
go faster, when i was a child i would touch the thermometer to a lightbulb and rant
about fevers, i never knew a true fever until i thought
of your hands on someone else.

see, science taught me
something is not functional if it cannot do what it was made for
my mouth is not functional if it is not kissing yours
wasting time with you was never
it did not just disappear,
the bottom of the hourglass
saving us for later

i spent all night trying to figure out why i am a new person
each time we meet again,
flip the hourglass and crack open an anatomy book
for comfort-

when a bone stops growing,
you must break it

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