I could hear you shaving your legs through
the bathroom door

until the thick sound of cicadas filled the house,
as if we lived in a microwave that had just been

turned on. The cicadas use their hind legs to call
for each other and it wouldn’t be so bad, if they

just didn’t all do it at once. They make a mess of it.
So, quietly, I pressed my ear to the door.

The old wood grazed against my cheek.
The brass doorknob wobbled in my palm.

I thought I heard your legs slide against
each other, and though I so wanted to I didn’t

reply with an “oh yeah”.
That would’ve probably been weird.

When it’s hot cicadas make the most deafening noise.
After your ears it goes straight into

your dry throat like a ball of cotton.
I needed
the razor blade that glazed your calves with shaving cream

to give you the distinct figure that kept
growing, coming through the door, getting drowned out.

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