You write out receipts
& chances. you means ‘you.’
I mean you. Such an opaque place. What
holds the arms, legs, phalanges?
Please don’t say spitting vitals, vittles spitting,
raw elbows, your arms not saying
‘chore wheel,’ ‘battle for yr enduring heart.’
The best thing about you best thing
is that I don’t have to Google anything & just ask you
instead. That’s not the best thing.
We’re not candles guttering, not anymore, not since
the light went out & switched back on.
Yr breakfast awaits you tilling the soul.
Meant to say ‘soil’ but got soul.
Meant to properly renew. Got renew.
So we get there & there is here later & we
chew up some lasagna. seldom could
tell us all we need. get layered.
Love poems that are very distrustful of love.
Of ‘you look at my eyes devoid of my eyes.’
Or ‘where are you my eyes answer no questions.’
Here my pupils rest on this plate of selves.
The new paint brightens.
We are all day.