April 26 —

“I’m — ”

“you’re — -”

“just — ”

leaving the bedroom I walk out into

the dining room.a

(Even when air between words

smell

like wine,

or smoke,

or toothpaste,

or nothing,

fault always finds

itself

in other rooms.

the air blows in from fast walking

and even as

the moment in

it cools off

I’ve never found

it

where the words

we just spoke

spoke.

It’s always hottest

in-inbetween air

clenching onto

well

it’s probably cascading

we all know it isn’t

air that has any hands)

I re-enter the bedroom

“The story I’m telling myself…”

(it may cool

as it stays with me

or the maybe it’s the floorboards

that push out the oldest of words we

let lie there

but)

“…you blame me”