My atoms are doing all the things Whitman talked about.
Belonging. Mixing. Leaning. Loafing. Shit like that.
I have to keep my atoms in check.
I could just talk all day to your face. Run away. Wave a flag.
I tell people I have to go because I just can't let it wash over me, else I would have to write down the way they all looked. They way they walked. All the ways a hand can move. The exact shade of your mouth. The scar you forgot you had. Your square teeth. A single droplet of sweat on your temple.
I think I inhaled you the other day. I was sitting on curb over by 5th avenue and felt you in my mouth. We're all just floating around. It don't take long to bump into each other.