oh wait.
i'm better than 8.15.
thank you s.b.

a shower so i don't scream.

i fell off my bike yesterday.
it hurts this morning.
but it was my own fault.


last night could have gone a lot better.

I woke up
hanged and dry
cracked as a silver bone
shivering in early spring

If I could stretch out to you
I would throw my muscles into awkward angles,
my orange knees in a moonshine embrace

the soft finger is what we want.
a constant hum of daffodils.
a smart point to zero upon.

or a reddish blue,
a white hole to pull us beyond an opening of skin and bones
to the heart that doesn’t exist in the sense we want it to

I would walk.
I could sing in square notes to
proclaim my arms belong around your ribcage

Why do I want you ?

It’s the area we leave behind,
the trace of little footsteps.
a push against the wall,
a slight movement of the hips

I’m all yours
again
and again
Until you say
no.
no!
no.

dasha

and so it begins...
(back in one week.