j. peach

The words turn blue waiting in your mouth. .

I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.

Often when I imagine you your wholeness cascades into many shapes. You run like a herd of luminous deer and I am dark, I am forest.

There are boxes of clementines in the kitchen and the thing is that I love you again. The thing is that I love what orange tastes like so I eat too much of it and end up sick. Last year, I brought up questions about mending after loss and all orange could bring was  eye spasms and stomach aches. But now the only pain left is left in rinds, and there are plenty of ways   to remove it from the heart. I won’t do it, though. Instead, I will mock the break with more breaking and eat all the clementines again. I only say “again” because I don’t know how to say I never stopped.