a windowsill for crossed legs and fingers. coffee stains like crop circles on my dashboard. and your eyes, green even without the wind to draw them out. i want to know everything--where you kept your stuffed animals as a kid, what the color yellow means to you, which floorboard you buried your dreams under.
how heavy were your fingers when you wired your first electrical circuit?
YOU ARE READING
ennui
Poetrywill i fork lightning? will i catch and sing the sun in flight? highest: #12 poetry
