Ransom, remoteness, remorse, here on the curved world.
“I am defeated all the time; yet to victory I am born.” (Emerson)
Mimeographs of semaphores.
Now that you've got a part of me, will you keep me?
Astringent persimmons are shaped like your heart.
The rupture of hope in the autumn. A southeast wind blows your voice into mine.
The repeat of the letters in our names.
Rain, 1:28 AM. My steady breakdown, my everupturned face.
The phone rings, and I let it go. Or it doesn’t ring, no matter how much I want you to call me by my name and whisper to me, I am still here, I am still shy. Tell me by your breath that you miss me.
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