wherever the snow refuses
the sun is where we meet
for the millionth time all million everything
i’m obsessed with your dead skin and formulating a plan
to learn to touch things
whether it’s haunt or hunt i will do that to you
here we are again swallowing all the city’s snow
as though the universe will only end
when it’s run out of things to steal and reproduce as something new
so we’re good
who does sadness turn to
when the moon finally explodes
after all these decades we are starting to smell
like all these decades
so yes i’m selling off my own agency
to become the target of your tongue
and its language to become endless
to open my body in the middle
of july and find that my body
is filled with snow
so yes i am gifting you
my body’s snow
shadow of no doubt
but trees really do sleep and we grow
and crack until the light comes
if i could place anything in my eyes
i’d choose the moment before you
die so that you never would
so i’m placing that moment now
when i’ve trouble sleeping i think of anything
opaque i imagine what trees dream of
i cut our dreams in two and trade halves
with myself
let’s stare into each other’s pores and count
backward from infinity
last night
i cut a hole in your arm and planted
the seeds of a weeping willow
you are a talented sleeper
when a tree falls in a forest
we twist ourselves into something obscure
can i hold onto your you like a fist
full of steam until my ghost
dies and becomes a ghost
or at least your favorite
tree
the feels
since we met the only thing that’s mattered is again
we never shit talk the river
in the dead of winter that is not what night is for
instead we scatter the ashes of the skies’ last cloud
over the river
after our last day
our dreams will be set alight together
our bodies the forest before the wildfire
wow we’re existing in spite of the politics of pain
wow i will absolutely recycle myself for you
the river is a form of graffiti against the night
waterfalls are lazy i’m sketching your breath
nothing is greedier than the blackness of a new moon
at least i awake in the night
next to you wearing nothing
but the night
bow-chick-a-bow-wow
imagine being the last cloud in the sky
imagine nothing but a corridor and the desire for darkness
when you leave for the river i am the sadness
a human spitting at a forest fire
