hush hide. kiss the tide of cadmium. mustard doors. leaning on spokes. trespassing the tender circulation of inner organs. pushing blue blood and blah blah words. “love.” the delicate petaled touch in our mouths. polka-dotted minds with many-hued days. the breathless wind wound on the tip of our tongues. pallid eyelids surviving the placement of warning signs. pretending they aren’t there. overwhelming. landscapes whispering tender bewilderment. “love,” i remember when you almost said it.
xoxo,
mute style
