If you think the moon has a soul
And the trees are whispering your name
If you can feel the pulse of a mountain
And see advancing armies in the clouds
Start writing, you're thinking like a poet

crashing:
              tear stains on the pillow
                               i imagine ocean waves

flowing:
              shadows on the wall
                                i imagine jet-black ink

dripping:
              raindrops on my window
                                i imagine foot steps

drowning:
             in a tall glass of water
                                i imagine you

all these happening:
             whenever i drink
                                 a glass of you

flatten your tongue
slip it between your teeth

n.

your little lips
forming an elipsis

o.

put them together
and may you declare
a word you’d so carefully deny—
no.

you spell it out
on table tops
shout it
from the rooftops

and when cursed hands
seek to defile your shrine
may you exclaim
"i am mine"

these cold white floors
are never enough
to mirror the purity of your heart
or to capture your hands' warmth

the intricacy weaved on your clothes
and patterns drawn by your feet
can never compare to
the dancing heart you wear on your sleeve

so don't look down
every time you fall
but hold on to their arms
and firm words and calls

to yourself, you're imperfect
to me, you're emboldened:
you don't need to win gold
when you're already golden