There is a new beam of light, in the distance
months and miles and moths, few tours and futures waived for the sharing of another bed
I have learnt. The pea under the mattress can blossom and its branches can grow onto you
and then discomfort becomes some other place of conditioning.
Soft, delicate, avocado-like, unexpected taste of power.
Please read for me. My words are growing as my fears become fallen yellow leaves.
Spring-ironing my favourite feeling, lean and tight, like muscles re-born into their felt tune.
Tune like tone become. They beckon my fingers into rhapsodies fulfilling the wetness in my mouth.
Wait a little while, I plead with you. I am at my best in the summer.
