i wanted it, wrapped & labeled, but not then.
privately i could move my hands slowly, peel
the envelope’s lips & address the photos with a
cautious eye. public exchange does this.
here, take my poems, i want to say,
but they only look pretty while drunk, it’s an
yet i want to be imperfect with you
we are afraid, it is
so fucking huge & liberating...
(& i forgot to mention, beautiful.)