We stand in each other’s shadows,
and as the sun tilts we form one
big footprint seems of a left foot,
left on the hill-slide street.
This dusk I feel like a thief;
my love steals a bit of glee
from the world suffering.
My pleasure, a kleptomaniac,
sighs out its guilt.
Today comes after the day of love.
(We mock those love-specials
if and only if we miss it see
the friends’ posting pictures, emojis,
and secrecy fogs our regrets.
This, our structural disdain, the way
we witness a sunset and hate
the darkness it ushers in,
as if loving sadness is possible
while hating those things weigh down
our shoulders, eyelids, keep us your beds,
this I fathom, fall for, offer you gift-wrapped.
Our shadow has flatfoot and it rolls down
to the estuary of obscure.