It’s six o’clock and I’m tired of the way you make me feel, old and hungry and sad. A useless combination. I cleared off my desk today. I like to pretend that it will help me work. If I have a space, dedicated, committed. I like to use synonyms, back to back. Because life is all about nuances. Slight differences changing one thing from another. A truck stops on the side of the street. To let pedestrians pass. It’s snowing out. They walk, arm in arm. Linked. Should they fall, their fates are likely intertwined. Unless they’re lucky or strong. Folks don’t seem to be both anymore.
You tell me goodnight in five different languages
sleep clings to the edges of our eyes, of our lips
your voice scratches out the words
hoarse from loving and laughing, at each other//with each other
I ask you to repeat it in Russian, your native tongue
I want to hear again
how your mouth forms the words
want to watch your lips push them out
I love to watch what your mouth can do.