mi casa su casa

can you
love me?

laid prone to flood
bared to northern storm
orange sky pounding

no dry eyes or bones
for exquisite tension
on eruption’s edge

close your eyes
and open them
into a new dream

leave it well

count my stars

(stop the drumming, Sasha)

pick up the phone

second verse
not like the first

incessant hope
experienced genies

chant and count
perverse child
rambling self interest

my bronze chest
her ashen white soft
breath pressing
slowing with night

will you
dance with me?


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