I tell her, it pays nothing, and the degrees are expensive, success may as well be stories you tell at campfires, and that even the
more loveI would have loved you after any death. Your face became victim to turbulence, a violence so tangible that everyone wept in their way of
more loveIf I didn’t run from home and fall onto a university’s doorstep no knuckles to scar my jaw or steel toe in my sternum- I
more lovewe kissed in stairwells we kissed behind bleachers we kissed in the backrooms of house parties we kissed where no one could see or were
more love