#falling?

the path before you has been...?

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Indian me be like:

i slip over my own tongue accompanying you to the station. we walked together and, stoned, i told you about what my first summer in the city was like. lowly and optimistic, with a closet full of shirts too big for me. the fence at macdonald park we faced sitting on the bleachers came in and out of my focus. your shoulder, close to my face, was warm and welcoming.  the shins’ cover of a postal service song plays in the background. it’s about the pandemic. you show me ghost quartet in my bedroom and i swoon. the soldier & rose. i fix my eyebrow makeup. i wax my lip. i blowdry my hair.  wind blows and reaches my legs through my pantyhose as the sun hides its face once more. i prepare for rain. i look for my black earphones and make my bed before i leave my house. perhaps if someone comes over, it will look nice.

oh, to feel the warmth of your skin through my long black pleated skirt

the length of your dyed hair falling by your neck when let go

to spill out onto me as you shift your weight beside me

i catch its scent as i brush it off of me and push it behind your ear

and then i feel your moscato kiss on my forehead—

there, i swore i felt it remain even though your lips had left.

you fall asleep with your soft face in my lap and i let you sleep on my couch.

i do not want anything from you. i am content just to know you: