Not before but now
I've forgotten your telephone number
somehow since last summer
when I'd window wait, fingers twisted through cord
salt hair tangled & absorbed in thought
the buoys are cold & twisted & taut.
In autumn, our air is still separate
i hope not to hear how you are now
we've let bygones be bygone
strong steps in plaid under weak morning sun.
Shipwrecked self-esteem is a temporary place to scuba dream.
Self-incubated and unrelating one day
long after, in birthday light I remembered
evening of rubber obscenities fired at me.
Wrapping paper, disused grandeur
books I quick-stacked packed & see you later.
In spring can't quite
imagine what it's like
to harbour bizarre, consistent confidence
unwondering if you're right.
We've long washed ourselves away.
Winter sea anemones who regret
impressing on each other's undamaged worlds.