In my house there were no gates
I wish I could tell youI was listening to those wordsabout your flaws but I was too busywatching your upper liplift a little to the right…
Raindrops claspethereal webbed scaffolds,pulsing veins of morningserene after the night’s slaughter.
I miss the Alice daysof impossible gardenswhere we were grenadesburied in the space beneath caterpillars, where grapevinesgrew dense…
Earlier, I’d noticeda terracotta sponge-splatterpaint job on the wall
Clothes flew off in a blended flock of discarded fibers on earth’s floor as skins fused against the boundless…
We meet inside of yesterday’s promise, moments before the tug of tomorrow on flannel shirts unbuttoningshelter over fabric of our skin.
dedicated to my you,have this way of waking
the tepid airclings on morning dewas I roll towards you
Patience is the torpid anchorthat binds us outside of time’s glass,