Stockholm

It’s easing up—
my belt slackens
my drain cover ribs
slur morning hymns
as the months crawl on.

But it’s ending soon
and when we open,
you’re staying.
I’ll break the till,
swallow the key—
even lock us in again.

We’re splitting cheerios,
we’ll eat the others if we have to
leave our story on empty receipts
and cat cage labels.

You jangle each moment like prey
and I’m not sure if I’m being fed
or very slowly hunted.

You curtain claw my shadows,
you gnaw my toes till morning
as our basket cradles
the outside away.

Stockholm

They left me here
with too little coffee
when I had no where.
They tasked me with keeping
them breathing, so they
could sell them all.

Today we clawed the cables
from out the wall
their orders don’t sooth me—
all I need is your tongue
behind my ear.