recycling stories

Which way does your blood move again?

It seemed so important
Til we ran out of towels
Or anything that felt like proof

I had enough to lose without you
And that's why I'm still here in this house
Making rounds to the post office
Just giving away what I can
To sleep through the night

It's hardly selfish to be living through you

And writing letters with your blood

And this concrete will blossom
Between the cracks in your smile
And your nose could wrinkle
Like that paper flower
Ill give you this winter

Recycling stories as if it were proof.