you always bruised easily
& would tell me about each new one
how you had no idea when it happened
or the moment you knew you’d caused another
bruises blossom through a rainbow of colors
black purple green yellow
& expand before blinking like a lake
freezing in winter & thawing each spring
•
if i could write you a song
it would have a horn section
& the music would rise electric
like a morning sky somewhere
among pink & orange & red
reminding you of the word joyous
•
the morning shave left nicks across my face
flakes of dried blood dotting my skin
i never noticed & no one said a word all day
until i saw you & of course your hand rose
to my cheek to wipe away brown flakes
as if that was the most important thing ever
•
i open the cardboard package of books
a bouquet of Murakami bundled
into a neat brick of new worlds
that i cannot share with you
i hold each one briefly rubbing the cover
regretting one corner is bent from shipping
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