Kristen de Kline #182 Almost

I almost catch them:
the dumb flies,   waltzing
through the bamboo beads
the post it notes,   straying
sunburst buttons
I'm out of breath
ruined shirts
what are they playing at?

The sonnets caught in a
cross-fire, tangled with
           (y)our
garbage   heart   seaweed
on the last mile home
I carry it close to my own
your carved out heart
listen to a language
we don't understand
pen fugitive lines
still can't breathe
on a paper bag, thin
wine-sized:

I didn't mean 

a word 

I take it

back