While You WaitTracey Knapp
I thought yes the striped one when you had to choose between two shirts. Our clothes always on the floor, our headlights only on low beam in the city, tonight as foggy as when I had a place in some other town where I took the bus and knew the bars that opened up at 6 a.m., my ears still ringing from the thrust of bass, the drag queen/nurse offering me lines in the ladies room. That was then. This is how I spell your name phonetically. Now I know the hairs that root around the oblation of your nipple like I could draw your fingerprint blind. I like your eyes, your hands are cold. May I kiss you. You may lie to me when I tell you I'm afraid of truth beforehand. You can do anything. I haven't named your hands yet, your mouth remains a separate math. What do you think of my eyelids, my lips pale as dead? I have been waiting days, months even. Hurry up, I'm starving. Put on the shirt, drink down the glass, put up with how I ride the clutch at stoplights. I am trying to get there faster, I'm driving fast to where we can't be closer. You're being patient. I can tell that.
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