The dream was real

Felt by the drops of a summer moon resting in its orbit
I remember when your arms would coddle me at under silky sky mornings; gravity taking shape

Let the patterns listen to themselves
see what they see
through their window eyes

Let the numbers stand there
be what they are

in their bodies
black
brown
white
and
unfiltered
demonstrations
when it equals soup and salad
without a price for bread

Let the silverware be tarnished
and cups clinch
only quiet figures hear

When we gazed into eyes on cut up streets
midnights in July
thinking about our untold stories
lightening August set off days apart

I began with love, hoping to stay there
I don’t want to leave another note

I don’t want to leave another note
I want a feather-bed to rest our heads on and make love

You have no idea how much the burgeoning of reminiscence relieves me when it costs not one molecule to love
to make us whole again and again
It’s free because it’s there

Feel the motions electric breeze like the wind
sometimes it places us on the pane
to watch us move

holds us in between the spaces
I am now in the scene of a precious transition inside and outside bream breathing in pink noise
washing away all that was left that came before restarting the scene

Once more
is an opportunity for the bird to saddle back on its wings
perch on the top of its one and only  
and try again  
saving what’s left of its oxygen
a single tree
meaning is without nothing  

There is something there
something there
these feelings pared
in our chemical reaction
evolving in our evolution  

Let’s agree that
1+1= 3 years
and two turns into one squared

Memories stay
when they’re still there
there is no erasing
what has not been left undone
in the kind of ink
that makes a white board look
sedated
splayed out
and painted  
in the image of our golden chair
leaving its imprint scintillating  
unscarred; unerased

Markers
leaving their mark
underneath the lindens in the back and to the right  

We used to taste the warmth of ripeness
in avocado green and lime juice press
no more pitted seeds

We’re standing there
standing; looking
from its new location
coming from an alternative universe
understanding ourselves
from a different place

Let the numbers stand there
be what they are

Let the math not add up
in their bodies
black
brown
white
and
unfiltered
demonstrations
of matter
gravity taking shape

Will always
Always
equal where we are