Slicing deep inside the pelvis; the bladder the uterus inflamed I suppose, maybe ‘what could it have been?’ harried hormones, or too much (or dirty) sex, kisses from laden pets, sweat pooled at my hollow sat on my bike too long to decompress, something I ate, drank or sniffed.. who cares? I breathe shallow now, allow for more space my distention visible I race to the toilet, relief for one moment and only for one trickle.
The sofa seems big when I sit on one end of it. The lamplight shadows where you used to leave watermark rings, and crumbly things, I pretend not much has changed, wipe your seat with my feet, as
though there aren’t two homes in place of one, or awkward info exchanges like we’re strangers, swapping vacation times with our kiddos. I pretend worlds weren’t switched seeking new relationships with my fingertips; missing you on this sofa, alone.
counter seats, and white notebook sheets partially scribbled doodles and half-written words
reminiscent, she blurs her truths of past, of present- enmeshed into one specific un-space
neon shapes light up flat paper building tops, and youthful screams conjuring clever chromatic accounts of cityscape stories: the lights, the nightlife, the experience you love when you can afford to ...