I feel your soggy eyelashes pressing
Against my face and I stand there cold
like that January night.
You are crying because you are not sure
where to go without the fire of my hands, and I too
am not sure.
You look at me like I know the answer
that I am a calculator and I can spit out answers
I am a book that is unfinished
a poem without an ending
and I cannot answer my own questions
let alone yours.
I wish people weren’t so dependent on me. I’m just me.
Grind #2 : I guess this will be every other night.