more unfinished thoughts.
Sometimes names are changed to spare the innocent
but we are as guilty as your sheets, Alexei
with your name like a poem and your eyes like wet lips.
I saw a razorblade fall from your pocket like an eyelash
your body shedding skin.
Everyone’s in love with you:
the girl whose cheek is wet with my spit,
the immigrant whose belt I split in two.
We cannot catch you. You are a ghost
and so we rub our tragic mouths together.
The night before you left, you took my picture.
I will never see the print.