I have not even seen your hometown.
I'd like to learn about the sounds
your chest makes, what elements exactly
are needed to create such a person.
The morning finds my crown
on the floor. When we are good,
your body is the hand of a clock
striking into my hour and we are brilliant,
explosive, all of the fireworks
brought to the party. When we are bad,
it takes you longer to make your way back
to me and I search your skin
for the remnants of other people.
Inhaling, I taste you in my throat.
One of us is the trophy, here.
3 comments:
You are a boss.
You appear to be as well. We should probably be friends.
I sent you a message on Facebook before you wrote back here. Check check check it out.
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