if i do nothing
you can say nothing

as round as the O of your fingers
before holding

them over my head. (drops petals and
stems from the front yard down into my hair

so cautiously lifts me) the hard metal
clasp of your belt in the staleness of summer, a
thing we had mocked, and mothers and
closed eyes at night in dark
bedrooms alone

if i say nothing now you
can never do anything. i rinse
film from my skin with the stereo
on in the background, the sky drops like dust
and i turn up the sound, turn around.