paint our house blue
if we are to be quiet,
listen to a heart whistle
like roads at twilight
& watch a blueberry plant
sprout in between our teacups
in good times I am still thinking
of sleepwalking, of perennially
balancing a dreamland
between snowy bone blades
the awakened land feels heavy
with subdued yearnings
childhoods in padlocked closets
scribbled onto blue paper
flung outside the window
into a foreign land,
where you are surely waiting
I can build a home
on a transcendent meadow,
pray in the evening for love
you on the prayer mat,
to the absinthe peddler
I failed to swim in daylight
to step off the rooftop
is an uncertain way to hedonism
paint the walls blue
& think about crabs bleeding
Cover Photo by Lisa Fotios.