The sunlight beams at my mole eyes. “The sun that emanates from your teeth”, you say, “is the sun that illuminates everything else in my life.” I laugh at how unoriginal your words are, missing the tenderness that lies in the interstices.
“I have big teeth and they’re yellow. There’s nothing pretty about that,” I reply.
“You know the suprasternal notch?” You pause for a moment and flip through your catalogue of memories. I imagine you smile and we wait for an answer that doesn’t come. After a few minutes of silence I chuckle a little and all I can think about is how you’re six thousand miles away.
(I’ve got your letter, you’ve got my song.)
Patomime: let us find ourselves dislocated.
Joints reattached only to discover a reversal
In missed gap junctions.
Refusal and inability to articulate reasons for distaste.
Your aphorisms mean nothing to me.
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