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hoarding MAG
October 14, 2013
i have traced
(with my tongue)
the crooked places
in your smile
you didn't know existed
my hands are cold and
i steal from you
(homeostasis i lack)
i was dragged across desert
as you skid across oceans
(i have tied a string to
your pinkie
and held you like a
kite – can you tell the
sky from the ground?)
i have lost sight of my kite and
most string
from here extends into thin air
but still, it's not fallen,
so there is still a
soul-crushing hope
i may still reel you in
© Andrew S., Milford, CT
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