We Want To Fit In The Bathtub Together But We Don’t Fit In The Bathtub Together

Our connection
to time is fruit

Turns on
our counter

The woman I am
is not years from now

A properly cut pineapple

We sleep until
our arms hurt

& wear paper
crowns even if rain

You take a few
pale puffs from a joint

& your mouth spills
smoke into my mouth

An empty bathtub