sans

Lemon oil on my chest after the afterhours shower,
the sweaty mirror
Unused bathrobe on the floor on top of plenty of other unused linens,
cat on the kidney bean shaped white IKEA desk from Goodwill,
oil itchy with nightblack
Night is standing in for a theory here,
is thinking
To the watershed,
make sure you rotate your plants so they grow evenly and toward the sun,
the grain of the wood determines which plane of my face the moss grows on wherever friction hasn’t tricked it though what is borrowed cannot be brown
Cannot be what is bought or mown or the skylight leaking upstairs makes the rain more romantic in the lonely romance the lone way I saw you at the Space Needle,
sanding the lobby walls with worry over whomever you were dating at the time and her drinking was green with want the glass erupted in spill that,
when I stopped to synthesize,
was gone faster than the bell I’d rung and from listening wrung meaning