Again
In between the texts there are fires smoke inhabiting the cave of my throat memories fall on my face like stray hairs and I’m laying on your chest listening to the flutter of a thousand hummingbirds this is what they call “stupid.” what they call “too attached” but baby I am good at emotional knitting weaving smooches into sweaters and wearing them for decades a haunted house welcomes more ghosts my bloodline is this sundried graveyard strangers leave lilies at my rusty stone visit me again.
