the will took over last night’s dance, where you would save me in respect to trees, in civil leaves, in petals untorn and easily appeased. but i ain’t such that dirt can help, water steams in touch and i can’t wait for roots to find the needed inside your garden door.
so i put thoughts on movie screens, they shine these eyes: a boy who don’t fear life or death, a boy who’s happy uncontent, a boy who knows how you can read so well of English kings and discotheques, a boy who don’t need arms so slack in white, less they have other memories embraced from earth’s gifts to us that some only find in shower vapors or unavoidable attacks of reverie.
your parents told the chaperones and all agreed they hated me as you danced so close to collapse, drugged with what was wanted, as once in life you held the world not found in gardens.
trespassed lovers on the golf course, midnight drapes us, volunteers in frivolity, tenderness and last requests before long words of ecstasy, you and darkness shake as friends. there was nothing else to say.
in further plans to crash cotillions, in stealing drinks for fun and proving theories about poverty, in taking cars mistakenly, in things to do before the factory gets me, i’ll look for you in your white dress, your copper hair, your way of looking around like the moon was leaving, and just watch the swans colliding till you maybe notice me.
i’ll understand if we don’t dance.
Chrome Press 