desks raze i want to sit behind you. so you'll have to turn your head to talk to me. so when we're looking at each other we'll know it isn't an accident. it's a choice we've made. you want to sit beside me. so we might have a conversation without moving our mouths. so our hands and feet can meet and say yes, this is how it feels to find what you didn't know was missing until it gave itself to you. this is making yourself small enough to be seen. but every desk is spoken for by the time you take your seat in the back of the room. all i can do is stand and think of cherry chapstick. i would paint my face with beeswax and camphor. plug up every pore with something sweet enough to stay. i would eat whole what my body can't break down and stare at the back of your head until every hair is a poem plucked from the chin of a wizened child. i would. 260724 what's it to you? who go blather from