you opened me up like an old radio
all those voices and stories and songs, dizzy pieces in your hands
but listen, all I hear is static
and distant lies, and the past
the sheets swallow our skin slowly
unsure of the taste
my wrist falls onto your back
confused by the sounds in the night
i think i misheard you
think i misheard you
all the inflections we missed two years ago
the quiet of ships marooning and aeroplanes flying overhead
my eyes keep broadcasting refusals
wandering when something will really hit hard again
Pleasantly productive
10 years ago
