This is cold, this is love
These bright eyes burn parallel:
Parcels, pastels
It’s what you said it would be, it’s what you left for me
Tiny boxes of kittens sitting on the highway
The highlight of his entire day
Lies within the hand that shoots up and across and in, too.
Chalk arrows
They lead us nowhere, they get up our noses
And float into our throat.
Itchy, itch, ich
It’s what you said it would be, it’s what you left for me
A flat battery and my scarf in my mouth.