words that don't connecti am writing apologies on napkinsMore Like This
and love letters on park benches.
(i am defacing public property
and all of the clean surfaces of my heart)
my fingers are cold (like ice, like yours,
like saturday nights) in my pockets
and my palms are itchy and empty
with sweat, or nostalgia.
and this is not a poem
and this is not a letter
and this is not a story
and this is not enough.
food for thought we won't eatyou should know:More Like This
this isn't a restaurant;
i am not on the menu;
love can't be ordered.
a hypocrite would say
don't look at food you