29 Oct Jenna-Katheryn Heinemann
resting my toes near your feet
this is what I am drawn to
on your mattress I absorb your body by bending differently
towards you, smelling like air
outside of this room
looks like you have
pressed refresh on a web page
like hundreds of fresh vines in morning light
I woke up to an entirely new city
and rendered each impression I had
of every person thinking that they could each belong to me
the pull you feel in your chest, where does it come from?
I have found myself wanting intensity so I’ve created structure
are things feeling okay?
I’m not sure
maybe right now they could be okay
it’s convenient to stare at a blank ceiling while my room looks like glowing amber
I’m getting better at using my body to guide my relationship with time
my watch has finally fallen apart; a new way of moving
through this city, with this body
my appetite is suppressed by my distraction
everything keeps shaking and then staying very still
I accumulate hobbies and hours of sleep so I can avoid the future
I forgive you for forgetting about me
someone asked you about friendship and your iphone was the only image that you mentioned
drowning my infatuation for closeness by collecting books
or anything small and green structures bending towards the light
I pretend I am the light source
(irresolvable, internal, contradiction)
Is your memory fastened within you with a soft substance?
Will you allow yourself to archive the deteriorating green of this building?
Have you polarized yourself from the perception of yourself that others know you as?
Are you doucing moments in my name, climbing stairs to transcend this around, visiting libraries
to absorb the lives of others through film?
what I am familiar with: the sound of saliva moving through my mouth
it anchors me to your warm arm
sitting parallel to mine
I want to hear all the fluids moving in our bodies at this moment
what I know sometimes feels contained
in this container it expands
like a soft marshmallow–like a dream
& light, & ambition
touching vulnerability leaves me porous like a sieve
Jenna-Katheryn Heinemann currently resides in Montreal, Quebec. She has a self published chapbook, Please Touch Gently as well as work that has been featured in: Occult Geometry, Leste Magazine, and As.iZ Magazine.