if space could translate
thoughts onto blank pages
and into color spotted images,
would you hang mine on your walls?
or would you throw them away?

you were copper.
the kind that's sticky
and melted.

you were a slotted spoon.
dripping and a mess
spilling out
all over the kitchen
floor.

you were a drain
clogged with cotton
candy colored hair.

dreams take place of memory:

I can't
:fold the way:
you do.