Somewhere in Miami, birds
ruckus in the palms. Rust
seeps from street sign to stain
concrete coral & lamplight
fractures trees, leaves fan
frilly out of reach.
All of these images,
& one of them you—
baggy shorts, you turquoise
tube top, you puckering
fabric, you abstract
tattoo, you
architecture blue
as painted doorways, you
sidewalk sunbath.
When you text me
u have a home, I am
high school whiplashed
to nights split apart
by the train, or the greyhound
where I left a message
over the road roar, something
about catching up when I should
have said let’s catch the blue line
to Wonderland or something so
concrete. Years
without a whisper
and from the blue, 9 images, 1 video
& this text. I’m a wave
crashing down, fingers
unfurling. Yes, yes,
I wish, I wish
we were handheld
by the same city
still. All the colors
you send me blur
like brushing fingertips
through the rush hour crowd—
a taut line, barely-there contact
the promise of seeing
you on the other side—somewhere
in Miami, maybe. Wherever
vivid seeps sloshing
from headlights, wherever bedsheets
are blush-tinged by sunspill.
I scroll through my photos
for the one that will say you too.
Head on shoulder,
forehead smooch, window frosted
& melting in dawn.

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