that’s just it, i said. everything tastes. and that’s what makes the best of memories unbearable. sent two strokes down along her arm, back up.  your pillowcase. the bench where we used to laugh over loaded drinks. the tree i once climbed without an exit plan, the bark, leaves, roots, dirt under my fingernails. separated our lips for one thousandth of a moment to marvel at the sideshow attractions, skylines in each others eyes. not just the grass, tickle of green leaf, but the silent drift of clouds, cautious moons, metallic taste of a penny after it’s left your hand, sidewalk crack on a summer meant for someone else, bitter skin, the sight of a cork on stained glass carpet, strained tendons, elastic naps together, alarm clocks, notepads, first drafts, salt along seven years past the shoreline. fingers through her hair, texture of tongue on either/or, both of us pointed in opposite directions, mouths full, so you know this must just be me thinking, everything tastes. pop of an ice cube in a solid pour of poison, stomach cramp, ash, cigarette smoke, an overheard fight on the crosstown bus, underwater, scratches on my back, ripples, cat paws, ecstatic raindrops, this choreographed moment. felt her buck up against me hard enough to send us to the floor, hands at the ready to bring a knee close to my lips, hand behind her neck. Gutters, candlelight, halfway through a book you’ll never finish, the raw affection of teeth along your secret smiles, highways, sundogs, dead friends on your mind, everything tastes, these graphic moments, your arms propped back along my thighs, and then back down around to distract us from what came before, ankles, up against, staring at our compensation in a mirror that winks back at us through drawn shades, we can let wet describe our only way out from the fact that everything, everything, old spoons, white streetlights, signs insisting we KEEP OUT, double knots, locked doors, just sitting outside, tasting the winter, branches and brambles as we make a meal out of this, against a wall that tastes, chair, once again collapsing into the everything, that everything, we know that everything, this is our last time, with screams in our mouths in place of everything, everything, everything tastes.

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in print:

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or for fucking free in digital

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so long and thanks for all the pish.