Studying my nose in the mirror
I recall roaming for comfort
My fingers are my ailment- dismay
That you will one day let go of my hand,
Not necessarily for another, (though it has been so)
But from a gradual loosening
My knot of insecurity,
A continual,

seven horses dead in 10 days, track dirt still
painting damp mouths and eyes that will
never start again and here we are with
our feet kicking up ground and orange light
staining like iodine on skin and we never
think to worry it’ll be us splayed out on the

a split second meeting.
one glance,
and nothing more.
i do not know your name.
neither do you mine.

a short friendship.
we drifted apart.
i have your number,
but i won't call.
you won’t either.

Three strings across my body,
Pinky and thumb pinching each fraying end.
Pulled across my chest, three strands
Strung taught in my open arms.

Pink,
Blue,
And white.