I’m just disappointed that it’s not electric
That we are not prongs on a wet field of instance
Conductors of connectivity
Gunpowder mouths exploding into ruin
and decay
I thought not wanting to yawn
Meant more than stillness
I thought not wanting to prove myself
Meant more than being nodded at
That we are flashes of static in a dry dry room
Devouring energy with friction and socks
These floors are hard wood
My shoes are cheap rubber
And you
Your mouth
Is a calm silence
Damp on an untouched keyboard
I thought a meeting of minds
Was reason enough to pry apart the barbed wire rims I’ve kept against my white matter
I thought a cleanly halved ratio of sick and sappy aesthetic to sad and girl aesthetic
Was reason enough to sustain the vibrating murmur of our chemistry
I’m just disappointed it’s not cosmic intention,
That I was waiting for cosmic intention
But am sitting in gas mask quarantine
