it’s filled with your hands

…can you see

that the way you move

unnerves me.

(it continues).

and that

the way you breathe

reminds me

of what it’s like to be


i stumble around

for short phrases


i can’t even remember

the words.

they’re hidden somewhere

behind the


filling my ears

(i think they’re mine?)

but as

i miss each step

each silenced word

attempts to remind me

how to


string letters

. to make the curl of the s

the lines of the L

the cross of the–

–and then.


my pen stops as my entire mind

runs out of ink

it’s filled with your hands

and every sentence

i could only wish to complete

is interrupted.

by your eye color

i don’t even know what to call it

since language


has stopped.

i try to practice




but your warmth

tricks me

into omitting syllables.

my cursive falls to the floor

along with my rationality

i think yours too

has fallen

somewhere in the pile

of forgotten bits of

paragraphs in

all my lost

adjectives and each


my neglected nouns.


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