UNTITLED ❋ Jade Quinn

his seams sewn tight
double stitched like
the meals we go dutch on

a girl hand-wrote, “you like
the arches of my feet,”
in a pocket poet howl
covered in water color:
a passing thought: what
does she think now?

entering the room,
he found me crouched
in front of a bookshelf
and he froze

my head full of
his short sentences
eye contact more
glare than adoration

let the fractures
seep to the marrow

tug at the seams while
my affections grow dusty

invite him to play
with my insides
but he backs away
so stealthily