Consider my body a canvas,
your tongue a brush.
You know how I feel about
blank pages,
open spaces.
Emptiness is there for you to fill it.
You have a lot of
catching up
to do.
I’ll come home barefooted in the dark, and it’s been raining and the sky is dripping from my lips and the edges of my dress and it’s okay, i’m okay i’m alright as long as the tea kettle is impatient on the stove and the sheets are numb to welcome me. I don’t need you to be there, it’s damp enough without you
