by my pillow,
laced top borrowed
from me last night,
although my own,
smell, smell of skin and
on my sheets
hair longer than
the ones in my head and
motion and bodies,
waves that make
the design of my cover
and I'm so brave.
because nothing really is my own.
and I knew you'd get it
when I said and repeated it.
and I'm late, I know, but really
you're always the one who's late.
so I believe we're actually on time.
and I'm so brave
when I play you those songs and
am absolutely ridiculous...
I'm so brave
because good poems come in parts.

[photo by V-Imagine ]



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