I’m writing my confession
in crayon, each sentence
a different color, each
telling, perhaps, a fairy tale.

But I swear this is near the truth
as I sometimes color it.

Rows of blue flight numbers are aligned
with blue times, I bounce my eyes back
and forth between to make sure I’m seeing the right pairing.
I am on the opposite
side of this too-long airport: Gate A, and I have 25 minutes
to make it to gate F, for the connection.

We talk about our day, we talk about our
Families. It seems to me to be missing the point.
I want to tell you of a slip of moonlight I saw
Over the grasses, I want to tell you how
The air tasted over the ocean. These things
Sunk to the bottom of me and changed the
Composition of who I am. This is the
Privacy beyond privacy, these are bits of
Promises to myself of what to remember,
These are the scraps of loveliness that make up
My inward temple. Oh, there isn’t a way to
Bring it up, and if there is, I don’t know it.

And here is where my heart is broken
But this piece changes shape, and grows smaller with the times
And here is where I loved best
Because here is where I found you 

With a sawing motion,
I slice downward with the knife.
Moving over about two inches, at an angle,
I repeat the cut.

The brevity of dangerous
conversations
between cast iron
pipes
and
the concrete necropolis +

I am discord,

He’s obsessing, not over nurses or sexy librarians, but over mermaids.