You climb the fence a rung and a half—one for each year you’ve
been alive, and I say, The fence is not for climbing;
you might fall down on the other side. But you say you wanna go boom there,

I
seem to have talked a lot,

so my
mouth is very dry,

“Sorry, I was
talking to myself,” I say
to the imaginary
person who caught me
talking to an imaginary
person,

my hands miss your scent
my ears miss your taste
my brain, it’s your figure
my tongue, all your thoughts