i’ve been obsessed, lately, with the way we say things. how sometimes you hear the great northeast in the clip of my “course” and the back-of-the-mouth “roof.” about how i find out little bits about where you grew up just from the way you slide through “news.”
our bodies splayed on the floor of my room. i open the book i’m writing about you and say how do you say this and i point to hedonist.
you say head-on-ist.
i say it’s heed-on-ist.
you say you heathen and i’m struck by the smile on you.
i scoop up water in my palms and watch it run out. is it in-sure-unce or in-sure-ance.
in-sure-ance. your hair is catching the sun. i watch your mouth move around the syllables like syrup.
we’re outside and i point up. is that a firefly or a lightning bug?
you look over to me. whatever it is, i’m in love.
and whatever it is, i’m in love.
