I roam cities that speak

like you. Their lips

twist at the rain, and their

eyes squint at the

sun, and I watch


closely, from a few feet

away. You are breathing

heavy, fog-clouding the

air, sighing—my question


dangles off the tip of my

tongue “have you gotten

tired of me?” Whisper


back dangled confessions. My

feet feel the ground shift

its weight:


You are sunshine going

your own



I am looking for every

reason to