Things We've Said
Sometimes
applause sounds like rain to me.
You say this as if telling what
you ate for breakfast,
as if you don’t know I’ll crawl
home
& write it in my skin.
I
can see the lights reflected in your glasses.
You say this as if the lights are
in my eyes instead,
as if I don’t see your city
lights every time I close
my eyes, every time I notice the
distance
between your eyes.
You
look like the backside of water.
I think this as if it’s the
moment your chair tips
too far back, as if I could pin
that feeling
on your wall in the shape of a
hand-drawn Poltergeist
poster for you.
I
wish I could write like you.
I write this as if writing
like you,
as if these lines could compare
to yours.
As if the heart on my sleeve beats
at the same pace as yours.
