through hands soft as his.
tin roof thinkings
dusty books in rows upon rows.
grow fairy’s wings at night
and fall, crisp
into an old flight?
I’ll guard my crystals by day
spinning wavy tiny wordlings until nothing’s to say.
you don’t know how much you miss it
until you must.
what is an ‘us’ without any trust?
slick hair, glossy in his glaring last-try lights
I so wish I could touch it, all nymph-spun-gold, almost bright
as Christmas lights…
my twin brown windows focus in
that world past the glass’
going all to orbs and arcs and twirls
just as I want it