even the roots of your hair are warm amid this dandruff winter. tribal tracks stretch to melt with your sun belly, warm twist tongues like bristlesΒ Β impasto scars left behind in soft places planting harvest in your nail bed. between motions, we fall into warm rays. Stretch our backs- stooped roofs a rat a tat cat caught in sunlight tips of fingers crafted like a porcelain milk bowl the haven above your lips shatter fits of grinding dreams. fall back asleep to black and white sounds and that **** street lamp: our roomβs own star moon tucks away behind clouds like specific uncertainty curves the blanket upon the handle of our hips