If I told you that in the closet lived a whale
Would you say that was a lie or tale?

If you believed it
And afterwards
you feel naive then
It's a lie
because it was decieving

But if we both know it's not true
And I am amused
and so are you
Then we could call it a tale
And together fantasize
about the closet whale

savory buttered golden,
on sweet potato bread

drips
make a figure eight on my thigh
I wish you'd lick it off.
I want to live in your eyes.

skirt pulled up to my chest
but your phones gone dead.

As I listened
to the lapping
of the gentle waves
against the shore with
the falling sky
above my head
my mind keeps wandering
back to you,
thinking how it would be like
if it was just
me and you

the numbness in my hands
is almost made up for
by the clean, frosted air

it's now that i think of you
maybe
tracing your skin
uneven with the chill. or my touch.

i don't mind that your hands are warm
somewhere else

you're mine where it counts