STUCK AGAIN

Stuck again, the sliver coming up again
You in my soft moss suede, our skins wet
like twins in a womb,
You cradle me.

September again
and we've swatted at this for a year
Going upstairs,
Going down to the beginning.

I want to loosen the stop in your throat,
I want to clear all the matter between us.

The particles that confuse
(yellow slivers in through the windowpanes)
A kiss that blooms purple iris
Slips on one that is almost perennial
And I don't recognize the two.

And I don't recognize you
pulling on wool trousers,
teeth yawning

From me—all talk
and saying nothing
a little no, a yes, a maybe—

The remnants,
like filmy wrappers and wine stain—
leftovers from a game we can't finish.

— sasha eakle