I have this friend who's an artist.
She looks like burnt hair and chapped lips people say we look
like twins,
like poets

and we are both
short
and painted Paint the Town Red
from all the rough particles

The only difference between us is:
she is beautiful now that she is rough around the edges.

A velvet fungus always grew
between our palms when
we held hands for too long.

But the vibrations between us
were too organic to define
as we sat together,
watching summer's carcass fade.

A golden moon sat in the sky;
a changeling of the sun,
and leaked down
sticky drops of indiscretion,
into puddles at our feet.

The lady tempest
sank her silver heels
into the stratosphere
as we laughed at
how hidden we were
from the world.

We were two dead souls
babbling at the edge of a dream
as I breathed you in
like a congested lullaby,

and you whispered in my ear:
*Wait until the wind blows,
take a breath and You'll be mine

so we meet again.

you’re the long stretch

between insomniacs

and their view of the

sun rising east.

even the birds are asleep.