I Gather

I gather

you under 

my tongue 

like shards of glass

after my shift.

i say,

there is never time enough
and it’s true 
mostly

you look at me full of sleep
and ask if I’m ok

I say, I am, my love.

but outside 

it’s too quiet,
too dead,
too ripped apart by sirens,
too veiled by the rot of concrete

and bed-sores

This work originally appeared in the print edition of Locust Review #7.

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