these days

there is flour on my boots all the time from my new job baking at may day,

there is this constant flood of memories, the arching backward reaching grasping motion of the arms of my memory,

there awakes a slow embrace of self,

there is making love five times in a night to a boy whose hair falls golden across his eyes, who doesn’t say much,

my sleep to work ratio is 1-4.

I feel like a jar of shells, which, when the jar is shaken, settle in closer and closer to one another— things are falling in closer and closer to one another, there is newness and settling all at once,

there is all of time, all at once.

4 weeks ago
  1. sarahrosemary posted this