When my eyes open, I think the sun
higher & sigh to have wasted our day. Hard
wood under vinyl presses to bone & tender
stripes beneath each arm argue pleas to not
meet crutch again, ignored for want to smile

Into your face when you inevitably poke
at them, betraying a younger you taking sticks
to snakes & yellow jackets & blonde girls with
mean streaks & straight teeth. Time slows,
allowing struggle over making & drinking coffee

With so few hands! Allowing struggle over
my presence, your perpetual sketches mapping
my mindset, but those rocks point too sharp
for boots twice dishonored, so I shrug to save
novice knees & ankles the rolls of missteps, &

I just want to drink & buy shoes! Public
appearances of everyone’s most backhand-adored
uncouple – Carry the cup & refuse the cash,
clichés of sex, except more Xs across calendar
squares = less you wrapped ‘round me; When these

Four fall away, which exchanges receive
permits, which cross to aching outlaw? Your
face when trying ((failing)) to hide a smile,
that smile, wielded when ambushed, “tickled”
by my little cracks & creases – the you who

Proves your tongue a liar, you who inspires
me to eat too much to make intimacy of eyes not
dodging last. It takes a day & change, but you-
to-me courtesy demands fingers twisted in hair
for capital-PG Proper Goodbye, the scream of

Front doors opened to open doors to leav-
ing those fingers tangled ‘til tomorrow; maneuver
to lean, Wide Eyes, catching breaths & smiles
at resumed contact, consent, though foot tapped
evolves to foot tracking back – Part II of

Today’s picking up things & relocating.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Clean up to clock &
go out, reflect, having dropped my name into
foreign conversation for 7 &1/2 hours; call
to ask if shared sadness let me off the leash,

At least loosened grip since you left me.
I repeat your last 3 words then “Godspeed in
Getting Some” while summoning whatever Good Karma
I have floating all at once to will this holy
holey pocket of Universe to grant you None: I break

In 3 or 4 & lie, lip-device-ear, because
you have a schedule to keep, parts cast, & when
caricatured, I fit co-star Friend better than
any other reader. Every outside face, raised
brow & parted lips, anticipates co-hosting, but

You’re the boss, Applesauce, so return to
calling Summer an Internship, I’ll revert to
Residency & scrape Grace from bootsoles, learning
the art of eggplanting, & not touching the menu.