our skin pushes the river till it splits the sky
molting with waves of skin, deep and fathomless.
i am nowhere, like a weather vane in a cauldron
of Nope.
The winds tickle when they actually Mill.
and a bread from said grain
is a Love I can’t
ferment.

not without your ghost butter
and endless full moons.

For
Love is a Beast
and there is no Oasis
for wanting
You.

As we Diverge... where

We At
Least.