Jan 31
Yellow Sweater's picture


Your persistent algebra tears me from myself. 
After our kiss, my creaking timbers were finally composed. 

I've been waiting for a secret knowing. 

Under the covers, warm and full of light, it came to me:
the sun is real, but in every dew-drop lives a thousand stars. 

We are lampshades, you and I, with arms made to caress,
with tummies and lungs and breath,  

Did you see the moon last night? It was lost behind the clouds, 
behind the hands you held over my eyes.