I did think it was love
once in the morning.
I think people can mistake anything for that
If they want it bad enough. I think often
about Frank Ocean and how he seems also to recognize
love as an absence, or rather as a thing
that takes up more space when it goes. in motel rooms
they still bother to paper the walls- I still redownload
all the apps and then text you happy birthday.
what I wouldn’t give to be baroque
to swim good to sink
my teeth in something less like brine and more
like candied ginger. someone should paint me blue
should paint me as the outline
of someone who is treasured.
or at the very least
or should tell me they listened
to Blond again and that this time
they heard it when he said
every night just fucks the morning just fucks
the mornings I wake up high enough to think
I hear you running the shower.