Contemplating strawberries and milk this afternoon.

Everything is making me cold, but it’s summer.
Wish you’d be here with me right now.
Would you mourn for me?
Everything on fire.
Almost have you in my palms.
I miss you but I almost prefer the space we’ve made.
Human memory’s unreliable.
Nobody can really know the truth.
If we knew, we probably wouldn’t need love or God.
The alcohol made me love you.
I have a headache.
The alcohol was an excuse.
I’m not sure yet; might be scared.
I’m sorry.
Here’s why.
Holding a cup of oat milk and sipping it.
French kissing the cup.
Stay faithful to my taste: a citrus sting on your tongue.
Not impossible.
Hold me until it gets dark.
Hold me until you don’t know me anymore.
Don’t forget to sing.
Don’t forget we’re still alive.
Kind of sick of writing about you still.
Tell me why after all these years you’re still burning.
It’s like this: carving rivers into your palm lines.
How many times I’ve tried to wipe tears with remnants of the sky.
Here’s how stars were invented.
We got home eventually.
I made Spaghetti aglio e olio in the kitchen, then went upstairs.
You weren’t there; don’t know why I was expecting it.
Sometime in the distant future: Please love me—
I think I could.

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