Locks of your hair like ghost orchids
Rare — How they grow in the dark

Like you grew. And what if my voice takes
11 years to flower? What if our meeting

Is like a milk carton decomposing? Or like
The the longest migration? My sharp

Piercing lung. Are you long gone?
One day I will be soft as the insides

Of your arms, where I would lay, like
A milk drunk babe, wishing on moles like stars.