if you could see through me you would do just that

whoever's front door
i'm looking into,
out of,
over

still feeling peripheral
and then so juvenile for it

how registering chlorine
puts me in the backseat
so if i fall asleep
i'll carry me up these stairs now
over

moats of frosted glass where i default to resign
after i let it wash over me,
my once line in the sand
ears pressed, will anyone else confess that
their proximity is fickle, too?
that the only thing we share is this view
that far-flung has always been by design

i watch as you mine complimentaries on condition
tell me what i have to show for it
lockjaw,
routine,
tradition

the chance of it glossy since i'm glossing over