everything is still there nothing is really there anymore nothing has changed
but honestly, it's still all the same monistic-like attitude of our world
therefore our reality, the rationalists.
i still love you i still feel my stomach churn i still
want
to
kiss
you
and yet, i haven't felt this out of it since before we met with carrots in my teeth.
remember? the spaces between the four a.m. trees and the lighting sky.
and once i overheard a woman say in a grocery store that, once
you start thinking of the past, deeply, reminiscing- well, that's
when it's all over. but i've been thinking of the beginning
for awhile now and
i can tell that you still love me by the way you reach for my pinkie.
is it so wrong? seconds before i started writing this, i was so mellow
you'd think i was thinking about my lawn, not my lover.
everything makes my heart tremble, now, and that is not
to say that it did not tremble before
it just
trembles in a different way than it did when
i could cry at the simple thought of you. happily simply miserable and
in love. my chest no longer quakes solely from the reverberations of your beauty, simply,
without a concrete sensory experience to give grief to, i am much more lonely than before.
the continuum of my perspective cracks because it is tentative,
the curve is an eggshell.
i love you with all my tiny little brain but
if i don't see you this weekend, i don't think my mouth
will cry but i will still
wring my hands by a window, just like a woman in some Latina literature, sitting in a chair and
letting sadness flush my face rosy and tell the moon how
much i wish you were holding my body, tightly

but expect me there for maybe five minutes, your stoic currency is not thought of highly, here.