Today I will mask the desperation with class, I clutch a poetry collection to my face, not mine. More famous than you are in my world.
The words were as good as the praise, but even they are not enough to cover my distracted, dancing eyes.
They are always stretching their home, searching for it in you, for you, but never arriving, always coming, I am on my way.
I will turn myself into a tangled Christmas lights of anxiety and you will rise away from me like an angel.
Winter is perfect for reading inside, I need to hold on to something, why not pages? My old friend. Press them together like prayers.
The steady fire, will multiply itself on my skin, in my eyes and a metaphor, pass me a blanket to cover the lights.
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