Britney

I.
My seraph, my seraph.

One day, you will read this and immediately know that it is about you.

Missing a physical presence that never was, save for in an old life shed only to be worn again when the new skin began to separate itself from my frame.

II.
Sometimes an awful wave—a specific, illogical bad—washes over me and I wade through its fluid body instead of rushing to dam myself.

It is easier to let it come and go, like a glimpse of truth in a dreamscape.

III.
What I Look Forward to When I Contemplate the Demise of My Academic Future in the Middle of a Class Lecture:

1. _______ [any blank that I draw in the white space roulette]
2. our wedding officiated by Anna Nicole Smith’s spirit, an especially ironic fantastical idea considering the self that has scoffed at marriage since the age of five.
3. a parallel existence in which I didn’t soil all of my college aspirations in one fell swoop.
4. the threshold between February and March, my Aqua love, a hand creeping into my aorta. ♦