lessons from limerence
BY JASON CHEN '24
nothing surrenders itself to me anymore
i’ve learned to chase. quips / licks / quick wit
the already-gone sunset i wish were still
waving to me / that silly shake / the steps
you take you make me want to fit inside
you better.
i like the weather even when it strives
to make me hate it. but numbers
on my calendar sink deep into this silence
when you frown and slump and sigh and why
do you never smile when i’m trying
to hold you from the inside out? seconds
swimming through the clock / one more
flooding piano.
can’t be easy to crawl through
my neurons / must feel guilty
for being someone’s drug / not so
lovely when your smile is my hit
and so we must be friends or i might
never greet my door again. let me
bring the scissors if our pieces do not fit
we’ll be Siamese / conjoin our lips.
you separated joy from both the corners
of my mouth. now i just face you and erase
reason / race a fantasy to my bedroom
how all your words must be spilling
from a brimming dam / spelling
vocabulary i have not learned yet
i bet it means i love you but i don’t
want to / you would smile a lot less
in my arms.
you’re a spinner so you made me
lean for you. i might tip / sway / keel
and then what?