renegade81

I feel small like a love sheltered beneath African weave-baskets that can't be coloured in. I just want to be your friend, hold you hand as we expand like embryos. we know little enough to be able to think about breathing in time with imploding stars. I paint the whole context of science and space in your pupil, because you are a bedtime story and I am gravity, looking into two different mirrors. body and mind do not know each other, and we'll never unearth the words for this like the worms that we imagine as wrist joints and femurs. I feel small, and telling you so gives me goosebumps as I think about your feet kicking up

                       d                        dd                          ddd                             dddd       &#

Your car, it smells funny. So I ignore your calls and don't write.        Not because I broke my hands while shutting the bedroom window or that I had an allergic reaction to the soap or that I got an ear infection from falling asleep in the bathtub,   like I said.                                    You think I'm scared I just don't like the way your tendons undulate across your hand as you press against my jeans

you cannot open your hands to take mine you'd rather salvage our smiles like newspaper clippings. a pass to your time, you      prefer to finish this later.   we  are  scraps   hanging    out of mouse traps. you cover yourself in wires where there should be hair reeking of used words like drain-water with no direction         because you can fall without me.