poacher

 

I want my root beer over ice cream
the bitter undertaste
motorcycles with open throats

I want sugar, an
ice cream headache,
a heart that beats too hard
straining against the
caffeinated day

you pick your battles,
choose not to fight

kick out blindly, left foot
connecting with the unknown

fifty-three unremarkable minutes
footsteps in the corridor

I do not wish to see your face
share the unearthing

you tread upon my land
the watch is set
signals rising to meet the

spring unfurling gleefully
unwashed windows
planes making tracks through

the sun rise, blinding
to set, confidant of the dark

in the rising of words I pluck your voice
like violin strings

a quartet of unbidden cries or
a name I have forgotten

the rhythm of sameness
I copy your words in hand

we look for a pattern,
look to not notice the clock unwinding
fragile