— for the unrequited i can never answer you at the moment you unhand your question you remind me of the man who overbundles in boston, and your question arrives like your overcoat dropping to the floor i can never catch it — these arms have grown tired, kid, and the orange bottles in the junk drawer insist i’ve grown up and maybe it’s not a good enough excuse anymore to say that i’ve released the balloon again i can never keep the rings on my fingers so i bury them in a childhood music box Dad tells me cognition dictates sensation How the daggers in the air only pinch If you let them except all i heard was the bile in his voice and his crimson lie you’re getting better i can never because these circuits only know disorder i can never answer “where do you go?” “what do you see?” because i am with you and scaling the alps, i see your coat hit the floor titular quote from the work of J.R.R. Tolkien
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“Yet they felt about them the deep and thoughtful quiet of winter”
by Malia Mendez
