your voice is a swirl of purples and peppermint masking the bitter taste of coffee and uncertainty each sigh is hoarse and resonates with hidden dimensions dark matter giant blank spaces not yet thought of but my entire body aces with the thirst to explore the wholeness of you the inner ear and outer space all just holding onto equilibrium

i hear you as i hear the low murmurs of the twisted and gnarled trees of the very last forest pine tree filigree ancient maps and a house of cards

the swirl of tea leaves in your cup like the swirl of my hands in your hair as i try to figure out which one of us is crazier

we are old yes not as old as the horses of lascaux but your smile feels antique and fragile rusting and saturated in the memory of romance and propriety

snowflakes and garden mazes and the moment and your eyes: all things to get lost within like the fireworks of the whispers of beautiful words: retina, entropy, childhood

i debate whether or not to return your call the words fester on my lips flattening and pressing like the pressure of a hand against a spurting fountain wide as a lion’s mouth with all the tension of a letter passed through a fence and the guilt-ridden static in your head when you step through the meticulous doors of the local church