sleepless midnight
crisp evening air
turquoise darkness
figures, waiting
painted the dawn
swirling blue
dreams, pooling
caramel lullaby
vacant home
no longer alone

quietly, in the mornings
with only your fingers
shades tilted in, the lapis
dawn that barely makes
it through, door ajar
studied, an open book quiz
unmentionables, spoken in
water drops
melted butter
shower steam
vanilla
milk
cinnamon.

before the sun
before breakfast
before the earth opens up like it does
take it with a grain of salt, with an ounce of optimism
the glass ain't even here, we have lakes
we have amber canopies, other hands that shield
lovers that reach for us mid-dream, us
they reach for us in sleep induced affection,
they may as well be reaching across continents
who knows how far away they dream,
fingers sliding across cello strings
they make beautiful music while
they are here, traveling limbos to find us
but we're here in the morning, in the quiet morning.



how to eat honeycomb.

the air is heavy
with an unspoken desire
for his tanned skin
upon hers
a shady block
of warm breeze,
a dusty corner
and her back against it
- heaven.

gentle kisses that tasted like summer
now dot her memory
along with flashes of squinting
liquid honey coloured eyes
framed within lashes
that remind her of the sort of thing she'd like want to feel fluttering against her shoulder
first thing
on a sunny sunday morning;
a nose that she'd like to have nuzzled against the crook of her neck

all swatches of filtered sunlight
and unfamiliar hands
soft lips and hurried goodbyes
- imprints of a translucent yellow