I am wearing your sweatshirt,
spring is unforgiving after
the bars close and I lounged on your
bed, leafing through one of your
books by a popular Japanese author.
You twitch in your sleep, first a hand,
then a foot. Can a foot twitch?
Malfunctions in your brain.
I can not recall.
I am afraid to look it up on google
afraid you are destined.
not even if you fill the pockets of
this sweatshirt with stones and
sink to the bottom of the river.
I will hold your hand underwater.
In the next you can be my child, my parent,
my friend, my mentor, my neighbor.
But you first, you can decide.
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