i put in you: wake up.
there is a solemn slack in our tide,
the way greys ebb & salute.
we stopped being identifiable.
there are no slippery wall clocks here,
no 1-and-a-half-inch margins
to make us neat again—
only sky & dirty, open palms on the
glass.
i woke you up at the beginning,
before i could tell us apart.
we both slid, naked, in our
invisible ballet slippers.
i snagged on the hardwood.
our mom stenciled silhouettes
and let them dance on our walls,
bought pink-petaled furniture &
called us, “girl.”
which of us refused the Easter dress?
sideface, you have given up ship
for butterflies, the Atlantic at your
chest.
you can sleep now, alone.
i can cut my hair short.
i can go digital.