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