I wet my lips, pouring out odes of him
until sunset pulls out my veins.
If he becomes night, I want to be the same.
She is the most beautiful spirit to be draped over the horizon.
Arresting shapes of each other,
our limbs will repose.
Her mane curls uphill after her coma of dreams.
When my body is too heavy with choirs,
will you still sculpt beach waves in my eyes?
She has curves to follow to the end of the world.
He leaves milk on the kitchen counter
and it never spoils.
Our doors are made of wood from barns
where lovers danced.
She traces home over my back.
He seized my hand
and we haven’t stopped running.
