we sit on the edge of fortune

5.

                                              the roof deck gets us close to the clouds.

                                              we lie back and circle our big toes in the air;

                                               i outline a star; you make half a heart.

                                               i reach up higher, poking my toes deeper towards the sky,

                                               but the clouds don’t break.

4.

                                               we learn words exist to scratch an itch

                                               in the backs of our throats. sometimes i have to dig deeper;

                                               but only silence.

                                               you say you know, don’t worry about it. so we both mouth

                                               the syllables together. i smile because you’re an echo

                                               from somewhere deep within me.

3.

                                               vacuums are for outer space, or gathering the remnants

                                               of yesterday’s argument. we exist in one;

                                               sealed tightly, spoiling slowly.

                                                i do best at night–i’m most honest in the dark.

                                                your hand finds mine and undoes the last six years;

                                                i’m perfectly still next to you and think about clouds.

2.

                                                we sit on the edge of fortune,

                                                the ledge as thin as playing cards, inside a glass house

                                                stones and opinions in clear view all around.

                                                orchids thrive in low sunlight, little water.

                                                we outgrow our humble pot.

1.

                                                 listen here, i say.

                                                 the sun doesn’t rise with me. i was born

                                                 beneath the moon’s rays, so excuse my moods,

                                                 falling and rising with the tides.

                                                 we learn love can fill a room, a house;

                                                 it ascends, high and warm. we hold tight, eyes closed.

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