I will die handcuffed to a French Press.

All sense of rhythm every time
you/I try to dance. That’s why I don’t
/you do.

Brand spanking new book
of poetry that you/I wrote.
It’s brilliant because I wrote /
you didn’t write most of it.

That Taylor Swift album you love/
I hate so much. Damn.

Count of how many drinks you had/
I didn’t have. I had/you didn’t have.
Where are we again?

The moment when you blinked/
I sneezed.

My shadow on the sidewalk after
the sun went down/the warmth of
your arm hooked in mine.

The almond milk when I tried to pour
a glass/you texted me & I got distracted.

Your smile & mine.


Poem 16 of 30


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