adidas,
tumblr notes,
chia seeds,
and erykah badu.

expectations as low as my credit score--
hold up, don’t even know what i said it for.
i should rewrite it all; i should edit more.
hit me up, and i tell you, “you got the wrong number.”
hit you back at night, still heated like a long summer.

a sweetness,
anchored boats,
garden weeds,
and other boys like you.

no “street fighter” or chun li hands--
ain’t gotta throw down, but we can.
i might dead you, but for now i’ll claim you;
hand signs for my set like a blood came through.
then again, we been far from the same hue.