I see the tiniest bit of dust between you and me
we picked up in summer of twenty twenty three
i'm having a hard time deciding
if the dust is golden or the usual soot
i don't know if it's an invisible string tying us
or is it the usual brown rope tied to the ceiling
you dared to step your foot on my lawn
i thought of us barefoot on my ground
i dreamt of our argument last night
you don't know how to apologize
it hasn't even been a month
of what i'm thinking is a firefly
we became comfortable revelers,
jokers and god, your temperature,
i feel like you're just not right
you made fun of my metaphors,
you told me you're a messenger
what if you are right?
...
