maybe I'm filled to the
brim like cupped hands under
the bathroom faucet

maybe the words that scorch this
tenderness in my mind with lonely
potency are yellow children of
a summer sun and its flower bride

maybe laughter is a dance

maybe when we get down to it, we
never really go anywhere, remain
hand-in-hand across state lines

and this heart snuggles up with
that one and the two grow stronger
out of their freedom heat

maybe I'm thinking too often, but
these thoughts orbit you like stars,
keeping me company until morning