note / oh no.

I don't know how your eyes hold the bouquet of flowers

Or how I can see soo much in the dark.

Every sound I know converges to make this silence,

to slow this second for a moment or two more _so that I might distinguish the petal of your lip, _the slender arc of your arm, _this long short night from all those other dreams.

She sways to the music,

a flower in the pool-hall wind.

 

___*___*___*

oh no.

is that a poem looking thing?

it's happening isn't it?

here we go again