The Last Five Signs That You Are Alone
your eyes never know where to look on trains other peoples’ public kisses taste like charred doorframe, in your mouth you are the only person watching sunrise from the brooklyn bridge on a thursday the toilet seat is cold apple sauce jars go unopened post-it notes stay stuck to walls, constant reminders that you are alone you forget how hard it is to fall asleep alone after sleepy whispers once faded beneath late night elevated trains now the closet goes unopened and you, afraid its contents will seep through the cracks, like your secretive mouth bury your indecencies under comforters and leave the window open. cold-- but the only way to reach thursday you thought you saw his shadow in a puddle last thursday it was that same pyramid-shape as love in a pea coat but you were alone and, without mittens, there is nothing to shelter your hands from the cold like the way everything goes ‘local’ after midnight, most of all trains you put your finger to your mouth the shape between your lips wordless and unopened as the sun sets along the hudson, your eyes remain unopened you come home late, to make a pot of tea and wait for the end of thursday gingerly bringing the cup to your mouth turning it so you can see ‘All men’s misfortunes spring from their hatred of being alone’ you bring a thermos and read ancient philosophers on trains as a distraction from the cold you imagine him most when you’re cold pretending you long for the bag of doritos you’ve left unopened claiming warmth from the newly abandoned seats on trains not like the seats in your apartment, where he sat last thursday assuring you, you would never be happy alone “shut your mouth” the last time his words reached for your mouth their sentiments came out cold like his side of the bed, now that you sleep alone and the drawers that go unopened-- as unfinished as every thursday since you watched his smile disappear on a crowded d train you spend too much time training your mouth to go without ‘us’ on Thursdays when singular-pronouns feel cold next to the unopened opportunities that you can’t help but feel alone
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