everyday is like sunday

It’s funny seeing you now--
The mark
Of my admission like knots

Etching out your face, and my limbs
Tense with blooms of shame
Knowing the names of each interaction

Round me and I cannot bear it--
See you tangled in foreign crutches
The too true peace of you

Contented soft, soft as her hair
Soft as the spark comes to shudder, smooth out

You’re too kind now.