this funeral for fleeting glances

your name burns bitter inside my lips
in the back of my throat like street-corner vomit
like silent Saturday nights
like a hundred fuck yous

your name bends back my wrists
writes itself letter by letter longhand
inside my empty veins, coils
insistent at the base of my spine

I can hear your name whispering in my pockets
can feel it waiting, tremendous
in clouds piling white at the horizon
in the hum of earthbound planes

and at night, it moves my fingers unbidden in sleep
to trace its shape against the wall