crimson vibrations thread the silk song of pink flesh making love to strings of nickel
the crumbling of bark is comforted by the crackling of a cardinal’s hues
time is white like egg shells fresh with feathers
a face of determination lost in the depth of a temporary frustration
attempting to unearth a solid floor for exploration
the trembling question,
can it really happen?
could we build a home from elmer’s glue and a muted microphone?
fluorescent minds dance in smoke rings like Hawaiians
his eyes bleed wine,
and we find ourselves alone with the bittersweet night