Lawncare

In between the contorted sheets of rumors and suggestions
In between your face and mine, small, tight, and round
I reached out for a tiny paper cut
Lines form wide and the jaws that shut
Off the pressure

The worst keeps its worst in our rooms
Small, small, pressed up against your door
The worst, your side, forced by the light

Stationary fights these lines that reach across
The glass in that room
Holy mother, dance through the kitchen
Should've chose old you