Inside of the room where we smoke and draw pretty things in ink I wrap my arm under your arm, and call our bodies into hug I put my neck over your neck, you are the cheetah cub I am the fawn How many rains old are you? No, how many droughts old are you? I carry spirit sharks I've never seen inside my skinny legs. My hide is Built of rhinoceros hearts and truth.
I have lived in webs, lived in dens, lived in bars and you. Your hair smells Like freedom, marriage, and youth. I want to be osmosis where the cells Collide and contribute, even the physicist's are confused. What kind of Bird are you? I said what kind of bird are you?
I've been in the room with the garbage bags for a roof, dried berry bushes That Ed has eaten bare of fruit. I want to hear you sing, the stories you carry with you from your youth. My trauma card is punched now, are you carrying the blues.
I have shuffled up, inside the Hebrew dragon gods I have never Understood, how the corduroy grows weary from the use, the cotton Threads they made are sewn and stitched well, so why do they tear on The legs I put them on, my legs are skinless, my pockets worn from Carrying things like a child whose curiosity is overused. I'm free for use, I'm yours for use.