collarbone pressed to the windowpane,
the green hills roll down your house,
trickle down into the water and sift
into sand, stretch out the coast

across that ocean, i am waiting,
i lift my foot off the ground and twirl,
body pointed like a weather-vane
metallic and rusting to you

when i see you our mouths will fuse
and i'll paint you concrete like the city
and your eyes will be revolving doors
that adults get stuck in to twirl