The shadows make swans
out of our necks when you sleep in my bed, the
only hour I do not feel so heavy
as after reciting poetry to a fallen star
or finishing a conversation without some goodbye word

leaving spider webs
in my mouth while my lips wait
for the cue to close, a signal to move on from whatever
happened and left without departing.

Saliva strings out from your cheek like spider legs
and I like this so much more.

We condemn bugs,
those icky things, for daring to sleep where no one else
does – but does that not mean that bugs
never want anyone to be lonely?

when morning no longer opens our eye sockets
snails will use their glue

when the sun stops loving the moon
I want to take your hand, and be light, and fly from the
bottom of earth’s oceans
all the way to the astronomies, we can
be the insects keeping the moon and stars not lonely.