boids

pirouette on a brain cell
my love for you is an electrical impulse by synapse
to a map of words burned through paper with chemical
intention, something heavier than a lead pipe
that smashes my head into a flutter of boids
pixilated flocks of smattered fragments
that eclipse the image of you in my retina.
and everything is so tenuous,
relationships a matter of optics,
if your cheekbones look better
from the left or the right
beneath the streaming desk light
where you have laid your head down
to draft a dream
that falls apart upon first light,
where i kissed you and where
you wake with a bruise on your face
and a fistful of tiny white paper squares
that turn and dart to the left,
now to the right.

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