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overlap
authentic mischief,
and difficult matching,
produce constant, expanding dividers-
patterned
in a disappearing room
we couldn’t get along without-
a non-absorbed, spilling glass,
creates a recessed resemblance,
to a brief experience of slide-in conveniences.
corresponding distortion
his consideration for her,
didn’t turn her.
he was arrogant and unbending- with a spade
from past experience.
“do you believe the correspondence of tomorrow?”
she put some space on his hard thighs,
and lunged at his question- still not crying
she answered,
“you never stray from too close.”
but she betrayed her own voice,
she wanted him too- performance parts
getting closer-
take the suggestion.
she pulled away,
and hurried out of order before speaking again.
could she really trust a happy home?
“she was almost you again.”
after he finished shouting,
she started to stretch.
suddenly, the hot day across her shoulders…
he had delayed looking.
- - - - - -
Matthew Gordon lives and walks in San Francisco.
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