I did think it was love
once in the morning.

I think people can mistake anything for that
If they want it bad enough.                    I think often

about Frank Ocean and how he            seems also to recognize
love as an absence, or rather as a thing

that takes up more space when it goes. in motel rooms

they still bother to paper the walls-                     I still redownload
all the apps    and then text you happy birthday.

what I wouldn’t give                  to be baroque

to swim good                to sink
my teeth in something less       like brine and more

like candied ginger.       someone should paint me blue
               should paint me as the outline
of someone who is        treasured.

or at the very least
                            loved

or should tell me they listened
to Blond again   and that this time
they heard it when he said

every night just fucks the morning                   just fucks

the mornings                I wake up high enough to think

I hear you running the shower.