>for indulging me>

to whoevermaybeout]there

Dear whats(her/his)name,
today we give thanks for the impossible,
for the mutually exclusive dream,
the clinking cocktail glass of maybeI>will,
and the confetti of breakage.

You, —yes, you—
thank you for the trepid tickling of the hippocampus,
for the tock-tock of the sweat clock,
and the [forgetmenot] fear
which runs with the bulls — and the exes.

Thanks for love letters written in rose quill fancies,
for sobriety so sober we wake hungover,
for kissing gates, for kissing friends,
and for wrinkled lips kissing wrinkled lips.

My god, whoevermaybeout]there,
grateful, we’re more>than grateful
for the sex of Art Nouveau,
spring fucking flings in fields
with (these/are/organic) berries,
and humming honey,
and every ]asofyet[ undiscovered orchid,
for Chet Baker,
and whatevershewants to dance to next.

Dear friend,
thank you for the infinite><space of
everything I haven’t tried,
and present tenses, and past [to]present [to]
future tenses.

Thank you to the god of loss, to the goddess of motion, to the providence of psithurism,
for the senility of [time,
for water.

Great greatest Great,
thank you for the blessing of shaking knees,
and anything>and>everything that makes them shake.

Dear reader,
thank you for writing,
for all squintingly/sweet and bitter,
and Every. Single. One. Of my gustatory]calyculi,
and indulgent reading, dear reader.
>Thank you for indulgence>