day 4

When I smell like Reese's Puffs, everything makes me nauseous.
The blanket I slept under last night, my shoe sprawled across the room,
even the show I watch while my roommate washes her car at 11 o'clock
in the morning. Somewhere, a phone rings, and it might be you,
not calling because she is the me to you, if that makes any sense.

Once, I googled myself and found my sixth grade Dean's list and cried,
because that was the year my mother's car broke down on the highway
and someone--I think it was you--picked us up and drove us off a cliff.
Figuratively, of course. In reality, you brought us to a Target
to call a tow, and I fell in love for the second time. Softer.

Someone told me time passes faster in love. But it doesn't.
It wraps around you like a python, only if you're smart enough
to get in the way. We always knew book smarts were for the weak.
It's night where I am, when I smell like Reese's Puffs,
and I'll take an Advil, swallowing the morning, letting my acids soak in.