What Things

Do you hold against yourself
what things? It’s past time,
those little moth’s wings
drowned those 
slowly,
dropping,
drips.

Even from all the way 
over here, the night lies.

My tongue settles inside
tracing circles, pressing 
into the squishy tissue, 
pink and hurt 
from extraction.
what was left 
behind?

There are dishes in the sink.
The dryer is burning steam.
And I am lying here,
looking for a screen,
my earphones, a device 
to plug in and plug up 
and tune
nothing. 




© 2020