Like choking on your hair,
strands clumped by weight and by curliness
had the heart beating faster than ever,
with hands revealing more than they meant to.

& what’s next is something strange,
Visions of your bones bending and
becoming my bones.

Or fear of frigid nights,
a wracking cough that
persists for days and days,
I’m so neurotic.

The Wind’s gross whispers become
our enemy and
even ticks have cause to leave our body.
My eyes are matters for a few elsewhere.

It’s passive-aggressive, after all,
Like honking and then waving.
So blame it on the not knowing or on
breathing being so taxing this time of year.

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