Lemonelevator

In the high room
you speak of pulleys.
I mention phobias
and the scent
of electrical fire.

A ticktock tango
interrupts
our rhythm.
Rain taps a dull
shingle cadence.

This laughter
feels inappropriate,
which is maybe why
we can’t stop.

13 steps,
steep.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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