"I appreciate everything you've done."
A series of encounters measured by erupted,
white envelopes. There used to be wandering, when
somehow, you slipped past my cases. The morning ends
with a kiss on the cheek; a cheap parting gift.


"Can I run into you again?"
My calves are are always pulling, the way
sages stare into smoke and crystals and hold their breath
Tightly wrapped, brushed against wrists with men's cologne
These small meetings are just as mixing dish rags
with half-hearted identities. Are you married?
Are you alone? Are you wanting?
Yes, but the tongue has twisted itself around
the words until they are not words any more.
I nod.


"I have developed a fondness for you."
If you could read the maps,
you will know where to look: downtrodden, in the earth
buried seeds, for every gardener to spare. Then,
there will be my body, out of soil.