And you vibrate the littlest bone in my ear pretend drive
from the couch flipping air radio knobs until out belt
your white teeth violins grinding against
each other You echo in my chest hole say, whatever happened
to that surgery channel will happen to us all
eventually— Like I could ever look
at all my friends the same when not a single one responded
to my mass text maybe we’re all just birds
trapped in an airport Why I can’t stop scratching
the back of my ear and a cry for help every time I flip
the channel but you tell me pretend parallel parking
is harder than it seems and your hands circle
the air like a buzzsaw You, spitting slightly
when you speak and me smiling holy water holy water
