tell me about your headache,
tell me about a trip to germany,
tell me about your fascination with staples and puddles.
tell me your name,
shirt size,
and favourite song,
tell me you mean it when you say-

a heart-shaped face is set between snowbanks.
it is not yours, it is not mine, it is not attached
to anybody or any body.
i do not like the winter,
i do not like the cold,
i do not like when i forget to brush my hair.

you frown at wastepaper and
the way i brush my teeth in hour-long intervals.
you tell me to stop it or i will brush away
the tooth itself, but i asked the dentist and all
it is, is excessive.
i do not like the bins you set out at the curb
at night, and drag in at morning,
and how they often serve as rain barrels
for the birds and coyotes and anteaters,
i dream there are anteaters.
you tell me that dreams are seconds long,
and i remembered your insomnia.

i woke up with a funny taste in my mouth,
metal and blood and nasal drainage,
dreamsleeps and truth-
woke up underwater this morning,
remembering who you are,
but forgetting about me.