honeydunce

off the top of my head, 1:29am

how about steam
and moths?
a flight so wet it leaves
wing spans on the blanket,
crushed antennae tufts(the ends, the ends of your hair),
a nervous kind of landing light,
a walk built to split comas and on you there are
catacombs of freckles where it really counts.

there are highways that leak
we
standing on the knuckle bends of streets
telling it
sailing the streetlight on the backs of heads like halos
hand shadowed asphalts
telling it
the moments that snapped us
it gets easier
you forget to care about anyone actually
listening