There was hardly a breath of silence,

even though your hair kept falling

over your face,

and you kept saying you would pass out,

but still talking,

and I wanted you never to stop.

You have me read already,

so I am grasping to keep up,

and retelling the story of Virgo

and the High Priestess in my head.


I can translate for you the utmost

sloppiness in my poetry,

I can give you the moments that wrote it

in all its careless haste,

and why I said “haste” instead of “quickery”,

which is made-up,

and harnesses red underlines,

but is still more interesting

than “fast”.


Love you, too

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