jesse (11/30/20)

can we leave it all behind for a second?

it’s hard for both of us to care, to

want anything new. everyone says we look the same,

two rowdy, round-faced, brand new dogs on the block, 

tugging on the same leash. mom knows us. she says 

we look the same except for our noses: yours slightly upturned,

perhaps to prove a point. mine sloping down, lingering on water droplets,

hogging as much tension as the world will give me. 

twins. yin and yang, kicking shins in batman actions of black and white, riding

bikes somewhere new for your sake yet against your will, watching film after film 

without the threat of a millimeter shrine, pulling the roses

up by the roots and sweeping the dirt off, pressing them in journals, 

saying, hey,

remember this? remember every ounce of the past because

it mattered with you?

can we leave the earth behind for a second?

the weight—sure, it can be figurative—the blinking

back tears, that sour old couch, up

into the clouds, ascending like it’s nothing,

your nose slightly upturned towards infinite domes, mine

sloped: filming the curvature.