(no subject)

[guesswho_i_am]

If this were for you,
it wouldn't be.
Because I don't know
how to communicate.

Down here
things are different--
you don't know which puddle to become.
But I'd rather be a yellow macintosh
that meets your skin
in childish joy.

My joy, which passed to you,
a careful broken box
its contents strewn
like a laugh that cries
back in echos
of running tears, down
dirty walls, defacing
yellow rubber joy puddles.