Photo by August Kaiser
A late night –
bamboo chimes closeby, creating imaginary like secret paddles, canoeing through the amazon.
in the solstice, there’s a damp cadence to the breeze, houses mutter alone, still hermits in the late hour, companion to the tagger.
a warm quantity in my hands, knowing that a door waits, unlocked. carpeted stairs, platitudes of curled toes, a stumbled entry.
in the gelatin of sleep, that two am, those arms recalling crumbling flowers,
the lines in your forehead, emerging from dreams,
if i am lucky, we become tangled. if i am lucky, i get to observe your face; tremors & abstraction flitting through, as if
(the headlight of an express train to shanghai)
(my head resting on your hipbone)
the minimal, grappling memories of scents (orange blossoms), for sighs, collaborations,
(for what)
(do you breathe)
do you hold close to your heart?
/eclipsed by a split self.
to wake only with you, subtracted by parenthesis.\
