Cleavage, Cleavage, Cleavage

(Because when it's summer

in the city

and you're

long gone from

this city I

start to miss you,

sometimes)

The weather turns sweltering overnight. I run along the water and rivers of sweat make their way down the nape of my neck, the small of my back; I try to focus on how this will work out the kink in my joints, the ache in my chest, as my feet pound the blood across my temples. It works. Not for long. 

He calls from across the waters and you had forgotten how simple the lilt of his tongue, how welcoming the ease of conversation. You do not paint any futures across his forehead, but then, you never paint any futures at all. Your father calls and says Do you really believe you'll leave a year from now like you said, and the idea seems as ludicrous as any mad concoction your poor twisted heart could imagine. I didn't think so, he responds. 

In your heart (of hearts)

You have everything that matters. 

In your heart,

you are whole.