searching for a word then
reading it over and over
renders it a mistake.
how many letters could
possibly be in yellow?
I’m used to feeling wrong;
choked with sadness
or greed, not these junctions:
terror meets delight
okay meets better—
learning to want to
miss you, instead of
just missing.
that which kisses
remains in orbit,
proudly watching the
farthest stars, arms grown
long enough to reach—
but I don’t know what
to do with my hands.