I am saying primroses lined the pathway of toothless hedges.
I am saying the ocean shimmered like corrugated steel in the
The context of my story changes when you enter. Then I am dung
on the wall of the nomad’s field. Then the everyday waking person.
I am nodding in your direction like fissures between dandelion fur.
Seeing in your manner.
I am speaking your pace. Slippage of silk slippers.
I say you are losing sight. I say your breasts are dry shells.
I am afraid of what I am capable of doing.
This is all a manner of stating how I prepare myself to be loved.