counting the years, we recount them. we put a youth to our mouth, we mend the hearts, we warm up to dots, we craddle waves, vaguely. with every year, new youth, old hearts, periods aligned wistfully and strung along the same skies. we all know about the januaries, the junes. i cut in half all my beginnings, all my beginnings begging to end.
(from the blood spilt on my chest,
to your fingertipped nose:
this goodbye was without a word.)