Curtain cracked 2 inches

the sunlight pours in

and drips all over

8am blisters

but we meet in the middle of

the dusty haze

join sleepy fingers


there is nothing to think about


Everything that matters

is right in our palms


We are continents

in seas of disappearing sheets

Our eyes won’t stay open

We can barely hear


Le mien

It rolls off the tongue and drips like butter

I trace the lines on your sleepy skin




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