ode to my other half

Photo by Bob Ward on Pexels.com

let’s pretend this 
never happened

that my uneasiness 
is sand through fingertips
instead of bladed shells
in seductive colors.

my hips move 
to birth babies.

my hips move 
to hazy bass.

they can do both.

let’s go back to leather 
as a teenage love letter

as a lighthearted 
motherhood rebellion
cast in gin and street lights
and new york alternative.

adrenaline is 
midnight laundry 
while children sleep;

adrenaline is
sunrise cab rides
to my best friend’s
apartment.

my head can’t 
remember who I am

my heart can’t
stop reminiscing