Skateboard in a bag.
Plastic; it is raining out.
But you had to leave.
I saw you today.
Or your ghost, with the same hands.
Tan and wanting me.
Moms pick the best grapes.
I don’t know how they do it.
Each time, soft and sweet.
Like waves on green glass,
you swim in my tides of thought.
Your sharp parts all fade.
Campus is so small
it makes running into you
seem like it’s by chance.
Appendicitis:
Inflamed organ of no worth
wants some attention.
Outstretched type A hands,
met with empty, autumn air
fly back to pockets.
October beach trip.
Salt and sand and bare bodies
free from watching eyes.
Mist in the air and
drenched cobble stones under foot.
When did the rain stop?
Necromancer Walking 