Monday, April 7, 2014

npm: 04.07


04.07


In the quiet of a bathroom blue
when I forget to wash my face and
instead inhale both hands because
your skin and my skin somehow
smell better together.
Sun and cut grass,
peppered sweat
and coffee breath.

Not even plum, not even fist--
helix strands still missing heads,
rustflecked, outstretched
and I slept and I slept.

The moment it happened
must be unknown. Somewhere
between flora and teeth,
burrowed in the coldest winter.
The sheets, the floor--your
back or mine?
In all that living,
life.

No comments:

Post a Comment