APOCALYPTIC DATING SIM
i left my blasphemy at the door but got blood on your kitchen tiles. you clasp your hands over mine like a prayer, but, god, you look like him or her and them, everyone i’ve ever loved is a powerpoint on your face and my knees bruise a blossom black. i am not religious. but the way my chin juts up when i cry says that i am. and between glow-in-the-dark stars and popcorn-ceiling clouds, you press a straw to my lips and mumble, “drink.”
we’ll never be lovers // but every time a bell rings // bicycle/door/alarm // i turn to look for you
Published in Volume 2 of "PULSE" (OCADU's Literary Journal)