it seems in the folds you have expanded. i see inside of something else your jawbone cut like marble staircases up to a large monument. i see the Capitol Building, I know what the round room looks like, I have set foot inside of someone else’s heart and was not escorted about by security minutes later. Do you see me in the rearview mirror? I am quickly gaining on you, and your lack of horsepower. I imagine you car with crooked alignment and telling you about it before you even knew. “She knows about cars.” She knows about things yes, this she, not breaking at the end of never a sentence, seldom letting the fluidity of prose stray from the realm of poeticism.
i’ve written you a love letter, a breakup letter, a farewell letter, a catchup letter, a “can I have that book with the torn binding and robin’s egg blue cover back? i’ll provide the postage” letter, the “i have met someone equally as invasive into my immediate solitude as you once were, so i am informing you that you are sincerely now an afterthought, after years” letter in advance. It took a great deal of speculating what i am or will be, but i find i found you easiest to write to, in your whenever.
I have yet to look you in the eye across a table and i sit in front of a page, a paper, a hermitically sealed jar with no intention of being opened. I am filled with the air of the Great South Bay, New York, salty and moist slipped underneath the tongue when taken in right. I will share it will you if you promise to turn the lid slowly, delicately, like you were handling your favorite, cherished, item, the one thing that is more than it is, because I am too. And I might want that, hypothetically, from you. just the guarantee that you won’t spill.