he is so restless, as am i. 

the blueness of our hour slowly leaned into 

a moan - a wrinkled vista. it’s time, you see.

the sky was grey and clear, pink and blue shadows

under each cloud. but i was too distract, too wild.

all i could think of was how there was

too much lime in this world and

not enough gin. how the gentle are curious,

the curious not so gentle. 

then he said -

come sweet breath, sweet rain, sweet dives 

into my sandbar. see how spring is lifting you

like an undercurrent, softly rearranging 

your dreams? have you not been saving 

yourself, just for this? this fucking full moon

rising over a vague september sky

devouring in a gulp - that

we are not yet in love?