Friday, 3 April 2015

growing branches

as busy as we were there was
an unusual to us. it was usually
happening around our soulmate
stars. you are the reason my
museum exists; my writing
is in your left hand. my titles are
longer and our spaces are shorter.
i am in your artifact heaven eyes
looking at me and forbidding
the soil around these growing
branches.



this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...