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The Seal
Because you’ve gone to seek your fame
on another stage, and because
my legs grow strong on rage and running
and summer peaches ripen
insistently, reminding me
of your mouth on mine
when I was ten, because the fruit in jars
is flecked like the skin of your hands,
because I twist the lids to seal them
and leave them cooling
on the counter, because
I run away each time but then
come back, and in running defy
my hunger, each morning I test
the seam with the blade’s
careless edge. Each morning
—how many days?—
I unlock the lid from the jar. 
Dear Delinquent
O Felon Heart
The Seal