and reverse-spaghetti dinners,
rock ’n’ roll, or whatever it’s called,
is vain in my veins.
I am still stuck in the amulet,
when the cops come
and suggest you throw
it in the background of a river.
social media does not
defend our definitions
of what forever should
taste like in a Tuesday text.
when I touch down,
I hope she is waving behind bangs,
under a Coyote Blood hoodie,
wearing weird shoes.
every kitchen smells different
and that's the damndest thing,
that no one ever talks about,
so let's talk about it.