by James Diaz
There was something I meant to tell you
something it took me years to figure out
how the body can get lost in the spaces of the spirit
how your own two hands can become strangers
to each other
overlapping laughter- how we do not belong
we exaggerate our pain
winter something-something about an empty house
on a hill you used to climb when you were… not young exactly,
exposed silhouette
of social disgraces
‘protect me’ we think
while we only ever endanger ourselves
how badly I need you
not so badly
but all the same
when you call
if you do-
say only one word,
not my name
but your own.

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