Where the Click Can Be Heard

A pressed fist to throat when I feel alone, and gag

A click, a wish: nothing but the best for you


A pressed pair of lips to shoulder blades, and prayers

A cut, riven lip: punched almost as afterthought


For the hours it cost, on the cold, dirty floor

Of a gas station bathroom


Pulling grass from your backyard

A song you didn’t even notice I sang


To yourself, yourself the saved

A traitorous pause at the wrong place in the park


For the punch and the teeth, she hit me,

With escaping leaves, smothered on bare legs


A set of brought flowers, and a kiss

A taste, where the click is heard aloud


Where the words don’t really matter

But we wish to say them anyhow.


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