...feeling Sound
in color, tasting some
version of Love in the sky
, rolling over in sun-
spit (and a touch
of still-
ness in the wait-
ing)
.... is this non-
sense? or is it
Every-
thing at its best, caught
in a captive
second of nothing
in particular? I’ve pinned
my affection to you, to your
sleeve, to your skin, and you feel
it
like a pinch, like a promise
decked
in plastic flowers (that really
do mean as much
as the real
thing
but was all
I
could afford)
