your cold-brew coffee eyes,
for the first time
ever
don't have me searching for my own reflection in them
palmfuls of kale and artichoke hearts,
Jackson Pollock-ed
against an expensive canvas,
staining,
not dislodging
you knocked over my dresser,
throwing minor-keyed songs and exes' basketball shorts,
into the carpet i've cold-pressed with silent feet.
instead of retrieving the fallen things,
we
doubled over, in laughter,
till the tears came and left.
