with you, i am me.
a small miracle,
but a miracle at that.
i let down my proverbial hair
(although we shaved together it last tuesday)
and somehow everything is right
and the injustices are petty
and grapefruits are more than sour oranges.
then where are you
when i call you,
and sleep on tear-soaked pillows,
dreaming my pillow to heave like your chest?
I prefer that constancy.
and your grin which
inebriates me
and i only hope i can do the same.
silly odes
silly oaths
silly dreams
silly me.
but you knew that already.
Back.