we heard you say it was meant to look like running paint, but we all know what that meant-
the lovely shapes your skull makes, shadows in boats on seas we dream of-
what do stars really mean, you told us with your cryptic southern state rap step-
influenced razors and sleeping partners, and stood in your place of plain sight-
& if this is sex I want it, & if this is love I want it more, & those may have been your words,
you are after all, in part your star spangled chest, the reason I can say this-
awe is only one hold of the cradle that is not prepared to fall-
the saints of snow still hold heads differently than those sun blessed-
and I've been here hours waiting, but could not tell you what the table top is made of-
shared drink with both hands on one glass in six eight time-
and somehow none of that is frightening any more, but another bit of dust-
a second piece for you dear friend, sectioned eloquently as you might prefer-
could not tell the color of the bathroom walls, kitchen curtains, or iris accurately-
the keys have worn thin and difficult to read-
modern woman with a world trade agenda, two bold knowing lovers, a grandparent's buck-knife-
and a gut twisting urge to let it all out of the bag
