"the way you listen, i move..."
she writes her stories on napkins
edgy cafe and gauges
this is how i imagine her
she traces memories from table to wrist
this is where i listen
like dance
lead and follow conversations
i a moved to the vibrations of vocal chords throbbing on esophagus
sometimes i believe my heart is a drum
an inner ear tool making love between real and imagination
this is where my poetry swims
sits
lies
the way you breathe, i cry
droplet exhale
we are both the same
trying to make tomorrows out of yesterdays
and failing to make any of it matter
the way we want to
so we live as only actions
not to be remembered or repeated
call my life a mistake
but when i grow up
i want to be a memory
i want to be a smile
a breath on your lips
i want to be a dance
a tear
a movement
so that maybe you will listen
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