receding light, "we have to get down"
i am asleep on a friends couch
i am running my fingers through my bed-head tangled hair
i am the word, “coffee?”
the floating sound of taylor’s new album
the reflections of myself as he curls up in the backseat to read
knees to his chest in his own little world
i am the sunlight and the wind
intersecting across the tangle of blue peaks
where wild blueberries ripen in July
where you lift glass to your lips and i stare at my hands,