A cupboard is just asking to be opened. A cupboard doesn’t ask a question, but is, by its very nature, an entreaty. A cupboard says it did not ask to be a cupboard, did not ask to be an entreaty, is not, in fact, a cupboard at all.
Her dough-tipped fingers sparrow another pale moon into fullness as
a giant beast clouds the thicket of bamboo upon its back
with steam. Enough heat can turn a lake
into air, the sea into some memory
of having once held breath underwater.
We think that Tinder is just for fun, swiping like in a videogame, like the 1980s game Frogger where the frog hops across the freeway and tries to avoid getting flattened by cars—this is how we feel about dating.