on my wrist,
the dark listens.
A river runs
under your fingers,
it sold me out.
Isn’t it cruel,
how this coin-sized witness
asks for honesty?
Dial in your hand,
weather in my chest—
Thirty beats.
Forty. Fifty.
Maybe more.
I forget math when you’re close.
Scotch,
or mischief,
they flood my veins all the same.
Music dissolves,
and the room fades.
Just us now,
caught in the current,
with all else in orbit.
And then you let go.
I walk out
with your shadow,
still counting.
My pulse,
a small galaxy
that won’t dim.
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