I adjust to the fragrance and wish
my mind would speak clearly
so my tongue could blister
But I’m thrown off by such stoicism
and allow for sighs to be exchanged
through a meet
accompanied by weak smiles.
Is it okay that I never feel like myself around you?
Eyes step over and into the coffee shop
like spirits being found; que es el Internet.
Es lo sí que es,
I’ve seen it,
I’ve felt it,
I’ve realized penmanship is a lost art.
You were waking and waiting for the rush
to push sideways across the tracks
like the breeze
where bitterness balks on my tongue…
And it all reeks in havoc.