lavanderia

dusty séances on the

bedroom floor

crayons and candles

let me

ride on the back

I’m so cold I’m so warm

I’m

reaching expert level self-sabotage

I was happy, happy

with my fingers like tendrils of

summer vegetables wrapping around

your sternum popping at the core

of all the stairwells I remember

yours

had the most stray letters

on the windowsill and

the door was marked with a name

long departed

the day was

breaking, breaking

gray and orange while I lay

still and felt nothing

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