even the roots of your hair are warm
amid this dandruff winter.
tribal tracks stretch to melt with your sun belly, warm
twist tongues like bristles  
impasto scars left
behind in soft places
planting harvest in your nail bed.
between motions,
we fall into warm rays.
Stretch our backs- stooped roofs
a rat a tat cat caught in sunlight
tips of fingers crafted
like a porcelain milk bowl
the haven above your lips shatter
fits of grinding dreams.
fall back asleep to black and white sounds
and that **** street lamp:
our room’s own star
moon tucks away behind
clouds like specific uncertainty
curves the blanket upon the handle of our hips