She types salty the piano while the kettle rise
crisscrossing like an aeroplane
floats the milk on the teabag, spoons down buzzing
heart
shaped
air
This is no time to feel, there’s the push of gloved fingers through the letterbox
There’s something landing, there’s moon landing, understanding, tangled eyelashes, a joke
Look into the phone, tap the touchstones
pull the gambling lever, close the feeling part
did I win love?
It’s two hours later, there’s a mirror, there’s what’s wrong with me
There’s a window, there’s the door
