NO ONE ASKED FOR ME, BUT HERE I AM

I was lonely in the best way.

A trail followed me down each road.

Its treasure wasn’t mine but I cared for it.

Every lover I once loved dropped some dusty thing:

a notebook, knife shavings, a holiness, me.

& isn’t want just collecting belongings?

Which is why I adore people crying. They drop

pieces of themselves right in front of me, & I can see

which pieces they’re missing. Usually

requited desire. God I’m weightless.

We’re all just hoping the darkness parts itself

on our drunk walks home, aren’t we?

We’re all seeing the shape of lonely right in front of us

& traipsing through its cloud trying to grasp it

with both our hands. Life is about learning

possession, I’m sorry. To intimately know

your own sadness as magic. To own a body.