when someone asks “how are you” and your response is “doing well” when you’re not doing well

in the morning as i

decide to leave the bed

my reasoning is thus:

the sun shines and

the blinds need opening;

my cat would really

enjoy sunbathing.

i have broken teeth

that shame me no

matter the reassuring

smile on your face.

remember the touch of

thin fingertips against

long, lithe skin. a

robbery of breath,

a shudder in a bathrobe.

nothing poetic about

swiping and scrolling

until you can’t keep

your eyes open, each

dream a facet of a

brilliantly flawed

diamond, seeking that

resolve you watch at

the end of movies.