the day i made the wind my scarf

a cascade of
hair falls.

two-part sword,
slice me in two,

unevenly.
so i breathe

perishable

she who slices the orange
slices my heart,
skin against skin pulled
apart, clinging on for a lingering moment
before the citrus breaks to
two,
fresh,
cold in my cheeks
icy pain against the soft of my gum,
bursting between teeth.

she who digs
into my skin
will find that i part exactly along
the dimpled lines--
perforated by
nature.

saturdays at 5pm, first to fourth floor

eyes meet
fleet away.

refolding cuffs, checking
the time

look at the ceiling:
silver.

curious eyes dance
to her profile,

the curve of her nose,
tinted lips glimmering

against the dim
elevator lighting,

while my head spins
like a satellite,

only watching
never quite doing.