I. i left my conscience in soho
in the back of your truck where
ends meet like
frayed knots trying to kiss each
looking back i know
we probably looked like frayed
knots when we kissed each
other, unable to pull away
it’s the only way i know
how to love anymore--
in motion, slowly being
II. it took seven states
& two awkward fucks in the backseat
i do not have a hometown.
i have a built-in compass
with directions cartographers cannot begin
i tell everyone i like to travel, but
i think it’s just my way of wrapping up the secret
that i am always searching for you.
III. you can find me, if you look hard enough.
you can find my still heart
on the rooftop in a google maps
my real fucking beating heart, atriums & blood & all,
not the one we draw next to names
of people we pretend to love.
fuck that petty shit
IV. i left my conscience in soho
in the echoes of the moans
inside a truck you sold four months later,
but my heart is in venice
and every place that reminds me
of the feeling you left me.
i am bound to you like the pages of an atlas are bound
together like the crossing of city limits is bound
to take me somewhere that makes me feel
like i did before you left me.
does travel move the heart that refuses to