In tired spirals we graph our days
In colored stains we speak our shaky hands
Rubbing white shirts on the chalk board to
make tie dye tees

Two sets of teeth licking molars
smelling their breath over
half smoked
cigarettes

The feeling of being caught in the rain
with nowhere
to go

I once saw a field so green it could be an aphid
I once saw a sky so blue it could be a puddle
ink stains sit and blur and muddle
together again

Words pressed out of a pomegranite
it could be any
but they turned out to be
yours