We snuggled, our cardboard sheets
Pulled up to our chins
The water sheeting from the Overpass above
White noise roar
Numbing our brains
I snuggled closer to my
Not love…
Not ever my love.
But the best discount substitute I could find.
We slowly lost consciousness.
And I scrounged a broken stem of hope
Tomorrow would be warm enough
To sleep alone
I don’t regret the
Lack of choices that landed me
In this
Piss-scented suffocation
But
I hate the hope
In my Not Love’s blank eye
That we could ever be More.
I’m thinner and more fragile
Than this cardboard
Dozing fitfully clothed, shoes pointing West
Movement seems like progress
When there’s nowhere else to go
Not Love reaches out,
A kiss before bedtime
My cold lips crack around theirs
As they, dumb-veined and soft,
Fall deeper than the concrete.
And I, laying my head against their chest.
Listen to their heart clicking slow over and over and over
Like a forgotten turn signal on and off and on and off
Waiting for the moment when the turn’s complete
And it finally
Clicks
Off
J.J. Stewart is the current pen name of an author who lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Under this name, they have been published in the Abergavenny Small Press and by Nat1’s Audience Askew, among others. Under different names, they have been published in less reputable establishments such as calm.com and the Onion. They live on a hill with their partner, their garden, and the constant hope of rain.