Verse by @rae.voss

summer left its fingerprints on the glass i speak to the version of you that listens i keep apologizing to furniture the sea does not remember any of our names

i keep apologizing to furniture we are all somebody else's weather i buried the argument in the yard i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet

i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands i counted every streetlight home your laugh survives in the hallway i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand

the sky was the color of an unopened letter i saved the last cigarette for a braver night i keep the receipts of everything i felt the tape hissed where your voice should be

my hands still know your kitchen we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast the cold got into the bones of the house the moon is a coin i cannot spend