prophet tongue with
stabbing perceptions
i gave him my name
while in bed.

soft white curtains
though still chamber thick
cold steel hands
and the room sliced into pieces
by morning light
but haunted by night sounds
crept into open wounds of the heart

chills.

his hand
resting on my thigh while he snores
summer bruised and adventurous
though callous youth
with his unbandaged scabbed knee
skating last night.

moment forgotten in the carride
but a stone monument staring
at me on the kitchen counter.

In the dusty haze of light
reflected through tinted windows,
the sand seems stranded in midair
particles scattering in all directions
like a puff of smoke
falling softly with no purpose
until it settles into piles
the world on end,
waiting
for it to be scattered again:
from a footstep
                 an acceleration
                                   a lofty breeze
the golden flecks making their way
into cracks, between toes;
yearning for a home,
as though they were taken from their own.

Hello. I said again today in the same way that I always say
Goodbye. I cried on the carride home surprised you felt as I
Next summer. I will see you then and when we meet again
Who knows. A year away i cannot say what may grace our next page