eunoia

eu
your hair was sweat, curled ribbons
carved into the shape of waves, seaweed-tender
as they moved across that sea-bed face. I saw your spine
crack like a flustered
whip through the blue-lit air. your skin oozed salt
until your curls lay damp on your cheeks, and reflected
the brightest of roving lights.

no
years from now we will
meet in city streets, hold
hands, share sweat, our
two heads lit up with the
pleasant taste of twinned
saliva.

i
I turn my face to the wall and it
doesn’t move. the walls
don’t shift with the taste of your
breath in the mornings, bitter but sweet on the fractured skin of my lower lip:
here’s

a
to a new beginning.