I was a handful and
she had very small hands,
handing me love I
couldn’t handle and
it was no secret
we knew eachother’s secrets
quietly speaking through tears
and farewell in exchange
for another type of love—
one we both could afford.
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I was a handful and
she had very small hands,
handing me love I
couldn’t handle and
it was no secret
we knew eachother’s secrets
quietly speaking through tears
and farewell in exchange
for another type of love—
one we both could afford.
There is a blue jay
on a branch, in the sun
through blinds I peer,
whether he sees me
or not, I look back to the screen
then back again, he’s gone
his coat, blue velvet
my memory, strong
though perched somewhere else
I whistle his song.