malleable and crisp
the breath in front of me ephemeral
never minding the forwardness of its mingling
the klaxon sounds politely
from the tips of hope-d emerald,
the grains of sand fall through your breast
into open sores.
rearwards came Hush, unsightly
and pressed further distance, shunning
what parts of us were best
we meet with our eyes on orion’s belt.
taciturn, taking time to talk,
behind the fan that’s kept us running
is lonesome query remains just this:
how are you, dearest, and how have you felt?