counting

the way you look now, with your long fingers
spread against your cheek and your eyes closed
like gentle sleep behind their lenses,
i could believe that in the furrows of your brow
are planted dreams, in need of only a little water to bloom.

miles and miles of black, of emerald
and jade and sapphire separate my fingertips
from your throat where it is bare
as your head falls back to catch notes on your tongue
like sonic snowflakes–

i watch the flush of your mouth move slow
against your palm in time to music
and wish you could always be wrapped in its arms.
then you’d never be lonely again.

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