things that are the same here:
glass and silence
nails and chalk
comfort and ***
smoke and color.

how do you feel about the women called mother,
and the children that call to her and grab at her legs?
her legs: so smooth that their hands slide down them in the summer.
her hands: cold and soft and everything you need when you're crying.

I love you, darling, and I want to hold your hands all the time,
both of them, and please press your forehead against
mine because my third eye can feel your trying to see inside
but we need to break through the skin that hides them away.
I want to teach you how to share dreams so that we don't have to
set alarms any more, or drink caffeine anymore, even if it is tea instead
of coffee. or if your favorite is the same as his and it only bothers me
because I want to stop thinking about how warm, or thick, his fur is.
I can lose my hands

inside                                                           ­        the outside
                                                         ­   
of his beautiful mass.

He can knock down trees with a whistle,
or a flick of his tail, and he can make phone calls
with one long stretch and a yawn.