my body measures time for me.
i painted my pinkie nail white
a “10 day no chip” guarante
one of the last times i saw you.
it is half gone.
seven days ago
my legs were red, embedded in asphalt
now, the hurt skin sheds like tiny oak leaves
and my knees turn hard and and black
designed to keep everything out.
the last time i got a haircut was for the wedding
where i excused myself for an hour or more
just to hear you make me laugh on the phone
my chartreuse cotton taffeta ass perched on
parking space cement blocks, railings
and perhaps you liked to know
how my knees fall at your whistle and that
so easily i put my face above that white dress
in the heat and joy and love of the evening
but my little tendrils grew long
and i’m shy and shaggy now
a mess is a better word.
last, quite literally
my toes remain blue and lovely
but poke at my socks
and ask them
have you seen the boy
that made her skin glow
and sucked out the grey
flaked sadness
we have all become
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