stuck

by amy sharp


It’s terribly sad to have all of the words in your mouth
big ones
plucky ones
tiny pointed ones
the ones that would make your broad grin appear
shoulders soften
only you can’t get them out
no amount of coaxing will do
they are stuck
in your throat
like hard candy

It takes 16 months to get over someone.
I told that lie to a girl the other day in the park.
She looked so desperate.
Like she needed a numeral.
Something to tick away.
A red pen. A wall.

She will forget I told her that in a few months.

I’d give you a flashlight and tell you to shine it all over me.
We’d be in a big bed in a dark room.
Something random like Bruce Hornsby is playing on the radio.
A heart-shaped mole.
A scar I never show anyone.
I cough and try to get out the words.
Instead I kiss you down the wall.
Across the room.

 

Time is faster now.