We are nineteen years old,
spooning in a dorm room,
entwined like commas
in the last chapter of afternoon.
Light bobs, weaves. Unspoken
words pulse in the air,
vines of smoke
bind us like ampersands.
It is October,
it is Tuscaloosa
and we are electric.
We believe in and.
Cake & eat, sooner
& later, love
& always. But
or perches
on the other shoulder,
carries a spiny fork.
Kiss her or
don't. Speak now or
forever hold
a memory in your arms
like trying to see
the impression
left on a bed by a body
no longer there,
sheets smoothing,
daylight waning.
Plurals & possessives
jettison apostrophes,
grasp for the singular.