to the tree outside my window

i am a girl made of skin. are you a tree, or a fennel seed on my tongue? you’re so small.

sometimes i want to be weak more than i want to be listened to;
i think it’s just grief. (all you know is a driveway)

do you think of me? when i stand outside and look through your thumbs, 
i’m sipping tea. chamomile, a silhouette of you.

i wish you could hold my breath because it’s steeping now. 
i’m not like you, i carry my body. yours is but a scent of ice. 

(how cold you must be)