I
encountered you
at
4:37 p.m.
on
the last day of June
somewhere
I wasn’t expecting.
I
daydreamed
past
the nausea I usually feel
the
first six seconds
when
I see you.
A
comforting old friend,
Nausea,
because it means
my eyes and heart
are swimming
circles around you
wishing different moons
were above us;
a moon that sweetly drags
you
with the tide
upon my dark shore.
But
here
under
this moon;
our
wretched
patronizing
moon
I
am screaming
at
windshields
decaying
exponentially
faster
than you
sleeping
unsoundly
insomniatic
without
you
on
another
black
cloud.
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