i keep breaking our
patterns
and learning from these
steal
blue eyes that indigo fairs
came once that dark snow
storm
night; the lake danced
naked in
our fever breathes.
today,
monotone calligraphy
veins
are bleeding poetry’s death
under
our distilled toes.
i have stapled leaves
into
my sun soaked skin and
it felt good to use the
same
sex over and over again.
i am defrosted inside
your
wooden lungs;
numerical
spirits are flying
through freedom lined
eyes.
