he is so restless, as am i.
the blueness of our hour slowly leaned into
a moan - a wrinkled vista. it’s time, you see.
the sky was grey and clear, pink and blue shadows
under each cloud. but i was too distract, too wild.
all i could think of was how there was
too much lime in this world and
not enough gin. how the gentle are curious,
the curious not so gentle.
then he said -
come sweet breath, sweet rain, sweet dives
into my sandbar. see how spring is lifting you
like an undercurrent, softly rearranging
your dreams? have you not been saving
yourself, just for this? this fucking full moon
rising over a vague september sky
devouring in a gulp - that
we are not yet in love?