i often walk as a child
holding a lantern
once held
by my mother,
bending dust
from a smile
towards my own
lost weight
listening
to footsteps
occurring down winter
paths
creating distances
that i can not grasp
within my own thought.
i often blink silently
within your eyelids,
over-polishing
the sunshine
around curves
on roadsides.
Your a boat
swimming
through the heat
on my cheeks
breathing faster
but fainter
than trees
holding the feeling
of July
within unopened mail
covering my toes
gently
and softly
like a distant
saxophone note
staring at
a pair of leather shoes
textured and broken
speaking
of your fragile limbs
in sleep.









I'm sorry. I often don't mean things the way that people take them..
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