top of page
black lamb
Its first iteration"Boston Common" published in Mister Zine.
I remember bumping into you every where Our knees and thighs touching: we didn't
move. Lent me your jacket so I walked in the rain with you / the
blue bike that October night and the kiss in the kitchen (the people in the other room listening)
/ My fingers slick with brine from the oysters and wine on an
afternoon I was already late to retreat for.
Last May I had asked you what it is, about me, half asleep, you said:
something so sincere I couldn't believe you.
Perhaps you understood the person I wanted to be after all / perhaps no knew me besides
you— I felt secret. I felt alive in my desire to lose myself in drink, in spit and sex,
in bodies, all in one, these blurs. My gaps of memory.
For everything I remember, I catch myself — for I never intended to and this I regret.
But mostly I forget. I forget too. I forget.
I keep talking to you in my head / I keep wondering if you're going to
reply to a text I haven't even sent / When I prayed to God he told me
there would be no end to this conversation
bottom of page