hunger

I am numb at the computer reading the Wikipedia page on Hong Kong while you fix yourself a peanut butter sandwich. There is nothing poetic about this and I can't stand it because in my head I am constantly in a love sonnet or a melodrama. Can you please just put away the peanut butter and stab me in the heart in fourteen lines?

All of the rope in the world wouldn't tie us down to the tracks.

I am going to track you down. I am going to crawl inside your eyes and wrap your lids around my chin. If dreaming is a must, then we must dream together. If living is a bust, we've always got the past.

Passing you in the hall is a choreographed dance. Look over in that corner, I'll look up here. Count. Keep counting. Okay now. We're good. You're in kitchen with your peanut butter and I'm in the living room with a city known for its expansive skyline and deep natural harbor. We are okay until one of us has to use the bathroom.

You will continue to wrap me up. You don't need to perform such an elaborate task, but you do. I escape through the trains and the trails running through my brain that won't shut off until a nuclear disaster happens. East meets West. Let's trade off.

As a result of the lack of space and demand for construction, few older buildings remain. I place my tired bones next to your ear. Can you hear? Can you hear the hunger?