It’s not that sweet,

but we can mostly roll with whatever ,

so the taste will be different.

The soundtrack missed too, for once.

but all the tracing I did with my feet, my toes

on the cold tile,

will remain,

like streaks on a mirror,

in the same line, the same column.

You worked on Christmas one year, anyway.\

         That’s separate thought, probably.

We just don’t know them that well yet,

we don’t know any of it that well yet, 

but we remember.

those hieroglyphics,

the dirty dishes.

The way I run my fingers through my own hair// the recollection // the board meeting.

The blood in my hair // the hieroglyphics // punctuated how we wanted them to be.

in the first place/////

captured by fluorescence/////

we are talking about me here, were talking about me         and fluorescence 

the flora and fauna//

the brightness in here////