your lips have set up the hour when you want to be kissed and by who but my mouth, — imposter, — unpredictable… kiss you now to steal your sleep basically, recidivist as you know, in the prison of your mind, i'm locked i'm locked and i'm boiling, — i'm boiling and steaming, arousing each thread of your dreams

by feeling in need of me, or showing yourself to me, — it's not forbidden but just interpreted to be a sign of weakness for your favorite discipline, — indifference, which displeased, accuses you, while the blue attitude of the ocean confirms, — I could swear you already heard it syllabicating pianissimo, — I'm not that kind of the sweetest perfection to whom someone can insist on

I know your name… It has risen every morning in my thoughts… but I do not say it aloud, too terrified that the poetry you are with its fragile cat's paw, will fall apart somewhere, not where I wait ‧ I know your name… I whisper it daily enough to not destabilize the chemistry of us… but also, me to not be somehow incriminated, for my mind bears you deeper than the eye can see Right Back Atcha by Dave Keller