Hello, again. Remember the last time
you were held correctly. Got it? Now
isolate the small intake of breath com-
monly associated with fear—or, in this
case, surrendering to soft, unknown, fea-
thery depths. You’re allowed to breathe.
You might even desire change. Go ahead:
Make a half life of half glistenings—an
upside, a worry, the mac and cheese and
grit left over from nuclear spring. Congrat-
ulations: You’ve escaped a kind of risk.
You’ve merged into this bright yellow
idiom that outshines empathy, and hurt, and
turned, like almost any body, away from her.
Our love’s a temporary tattoo
of, I don’t know, one raindrop
on the tongue of an anteater
here, sadly, not eating ants
but wanting very much to feel
as much as the world has to
offer, e.g., the taste & texture
of one tiny droplet on a livid,
slight tongue, if not the wine
& donuts of our citified perch,
the breeze-drifted flyers of cor-
ner shops & helicopter seeds,
nor these silly human wrists
we dampen, touch, & uncover.