Last time I lost my head.
Last time
I convinced my gray
glowing chest,
it's heartlessness,
and balance of mind,
that there rested a role for
creating an our,
and
those personas could
climb the partitions
we mapped out
without each other knowing.
When we were young,
and did things.
Last time
I lost my qualm,
but I continued
to rest under
your hand-made quilt,
and dream big dreams,
important dreams that carried
our spoken lines
onto faraway lands,
and cliffs that disappeared
with the ocean's ebb
like Orion's appropriation.
