tell me where

once in a while, biris feel like rain in the mouth. that’s your answer.
the first quiet sunday after above water. that’s not your question.
several intimate winters after, this acid. when sex feels right, i dial across the country.
sounds knock over a part of memory, you are never at the right place.
or angle.
i cannot surprise you with every sentence. you can take a hike.
close to the quay, our mahogany bed still soft as grain, 5 by 7. this ear extends to the shore. little bits.
cheese crackers and a quotidian sense of belonging.

don’t blame the seagulls for bad wood.
nobody knows the right way to wipe blood. rasp or no rasp. starboard to driveway.
there’s why–