Plevy (poem)

you gave me those 2

songs with slow beats

and they crawled inside

my ears and they haven’t

come back since. they

tell me May, May, May

and hot water burns my

tongue and cold water

burns my skin and lyrics

about empty arms are

kind of derivative by now.

and i find myself in

bigger shirts than before.

what’s the use of a tag,

fabric, chicken scratch

type telling me i was

made in the place you

couldn’t escape? did

you think of me, there?

do they think of people

there? (that’s why i asked

in the first place. i wanted

to be bodyless for one

moment longer.) i wanted

to be shoved in your

smoky jean pocket carved

out by your keys and forgotten

about and remembered

and i wanted to remember what

it felt like to recover.