At the café,
until the digits meet
Earl Grey tastes wrong—
too much cream,
too little sugar
Sun corners the shades
into perfect contours
Sunday releases,
steeped in the air
around me
Radial pulse knocks,
on beat
The vein stays barely
static
Haven’t seen an artery
You are meant
to be felt,
not seen
It begins
in the farthest extremities,
then swims deeper
through hollow roots
heart
the place you dwell
You flow through my head
all day
Bright eighth teeth
turn in
Music bends,
slowing around you
My heart,
spikes—
crimson red
ruby
pink