I found you in
peeling silk shadows
and socially unacceptable acronyms.

I met you
and you remade me
in the image of self-realized dreams.
Frayed heartstrings
blossom
from used ***** dealerships.
Spinal cord columns, rib rotunda,
cranium cabaret and Lazarus lungs.
We hugged on collarbones and
loved in dimples.

We ran.
We ran along shores we never knew,
skirted expectations like cliff-side raceways.
Somewhere
along a three way road of cobblestone delusions,
at an intersection of gas stations
advertising ninety-nine cent perfection,
we misread the legend
and the map lied anyways.
There are no u-turns in relationships.

You made me dependent upon
perfectly posed pixels and
lacing my fingers with the air.
Half of lace is empty space.