visits steeped in nostalgia.  the fog, the faint drone of float planes

fantasized gaze
before the seed
before inertia that breeds
before undirected energetic expulsions drenched in teenage hormones
we were watching
what we were about to become

focal objects of desire

i barely lifted up my skirt
let the water lick me and my legs
we came down the next morning
and everything had changed

excremental reminders
subjectivity abounds
motivated by soul stories
birthing dreamscapes of sound

showcasing our failures to the world

when we met i was changing colours
i was painting walls
i was dying pillowcases
the common order of things

when we met the world was spinning
stairs had doubled in height
hours were spent holding breadth,
biting lips, deep sight