Verse by @opal.static

i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands the map was wrong but the walking was right we were young and the light was cheap the river takes what it is offered

we sang until the neighbors forgave us i speak to the version of you that listens you never asked and i never stopped answering the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays

the tape hissed where your voice should be the sky was the color of an unopened letter we sang until the neighbors forgave us summer left its fingerprints on the glass

i am learning the names of ordinary things again the dog still waits by the door at six we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast the bus came and i did not get on

the bus came and i did not get on there is honey in the bottom of the bad years the sea does not remember any of our names the highway hums the way you used to

the kettle screams and i let it the bus came and i did not get on