large panel windows with a view of brick beyond
white (pristine, pure)
untouched fantasies
and
compromised realities


draped in sunlight it tastes bitter like
unaged marble, freshly cut and hung
(on a languid pointe you advance
    — a graceless ballonné)


there’s a peace to be found
in quiescent words dripping in honey   sounding across an empty room
sinking to the soles of your feet
as you dip your toes into discarded symphonies
painting them across my heart.