fingertip delicate lights
inside our hands braid
his strands between
memory & moment

always haunting
libraries when it's
too dark to read

some
thing
to be said

for a
wended
way

back to
your own
bed

he waits below
torpedos loaded
& if it sweetly
goes to plan we can
sink with abandon

it's all just
perspective

you're there
i am here
subsequently

apologetically

love lies

after all parallel
to that which
perpetually
needs