twoblueviolets

Bend your middle and ring
            forward
Hold them to your palm

the rest, they stay up

and now you brandish
a weapon of a sign

You love to paint.

You teeter on the line between

Hedonism and Asceticism

with every move of your fingers

each shape you make in the clay

Snap, clap, bite

Maybe you'll wake up

to a small mercy raining heavily

on your roof

or maybe you won't.

I go biking near dusk, when the sun skims the surface of the horizon and the owls begin to hoot and the bugs begin to bite. 

Waking up to you

grinning down at me

your long, golden hair falling off your shoulders,

I close my eyes

block out your face with my hand