Pieces of fabric
swell around my arm
tourniquet bound and
stitched
from the lining of the journal,
exploding in heart shaped stars.

Ventilation
Convulsed laughter
while our eyes didn't quite meet

[long enough]

smiles reciprocate
anyway.

That day a barnstorm
like birds, in high-rise
oak trees, fueled flowers
in garden cradles.

verbiage eaten...
the eventual supper.

Essence of leather
knuckle bound, writing.

I taught you in different chords
a world that retains your
fragile hands.
The crescent shaped
impact on your cheek,
ring on your left
******* glistened
downstream
lighting the way
to my words.

If I had to break,
our cheeks turned,
curling up between
book pages,
and markers that left
stories and towers
taller than mountains.

Ears cuffed with maddening
silence, a distraction
to shut it out.
Mercy, whatever it takes
to cease the personality
of "I'm already lost"
you can keep the change,
and peace.

They say dusk holds on
until the day is born.