i feel alive, again, sunrise ---
this is all too strange, noon high ---
i don't want it, early eve ----

i wonder what
it would feel like
to be

alive,

moonfall.

I wrote a letter the other day.
dancing around the subject of dragonflies
I don’t speak in their language
honestly its too complicated
because I don’t speak in nuzzles
I don’t speak in love
I speak in the cold attitude of indifference
I mutter thoughts in blue ballpoint pen

To him I speak in keyboard clicks
with a snap of a twig we flip
and we are in the same room
matching cereal bowls
emptied of their contents in the sink
We speak in notches on a bed post
and a mattress on the floor
We speak in unwashed sheets
He crushes my disdain as if it were a walnut shell
and informs me that I speak in my sleep

Whatever the weather we stay at home
stare out the windows at the fairy lit wilderness
jotting down whatever concepts come to mind
he is cream rolling in peaks
smooth and whipped
poured over his duvet
as if he were cool whip on peach pie
He is my worst intentions personified

I wrote a letter the other day.
dancing around the subject of dragonflies
I dont speak in their language
but he speaks mine
even though its complicated
we don't speak in words
we speak in private displays of affection
we speak in caring closed door moments
and the texts he asks me to send when I walk home alone
To make sure I am safe
and In the end I may mutter thoughts in blue ballpoint pen
but He reads them loud and clear and responds in love