in the street by myself with my health
and chick singers by my iPhone side
and a two-day turnaround of always have been.
this love took a lot longer,
because of doorstep blues
and pushing back time
in the form of a clock called bed.
your dot dot dot is my not
and the river of milk drops juice
between the two of us
when walking forever in this place.
they didn't like that
and she didn't like the process
but I am fat and she is skinny,
like poetry and prose and song mistakes.
like a bad restaurant ad,
we wait for people near us to give up
and come in with open mouths and hands
because it is so hot outside.