I Am Nearly Twenty-Five
and have,
as of yet, not written this
generation’s love poem
I feel terrible about this and us, and I feel terrible for clouds, in fact
I feel so bad at this moment about
how we don’t speak—it’s as if
some mutual gladness of absence has become
a sense of diffidence no longer cares to make it into
how we don’t speak—it’s as if
some mutual gladness of absence has become
a sense of diffidence no longer cares to make it into
my poems I don’t ever feel like writing
