Accident #

imagine we never met
and you were bagging my shit
at the grocery store
and I love you in the way
that your face is familiar
so you can’t shave anymore
the soil we’ve made
from rubbing feet on the carpets
grows grass of my independence
the way that we shake
forms ripples in the air
that leads to new events and
I think about the improbability
of me ever meeting you
if this was 1820 and no planes yet flew
I love you in that I get easily mad
but it never feels bad anymore
because you’re a steady shore
for these dark waters
but really, what if I walked past you
in the train station and we never
gave it a second look—