our world and mine, locked
hair and preyed on lips that were
covered with past lives
clouds.
she opened her gaze at me
and a drunk fairytale
arrived on plastic wings;
because the wind blew across
us and the forgotten in us
and the short distnace of
entering the poem,
in us.
mute this archetype into
a mold that fits imperfectly-
that is the line i willingly
shall cross.
