Roses are red
Violets are blue
Somewhere in a snowy woods
Sits a Sasquatch thinking of you
This is what happens when as we become older: our bodies stilllong for pleasure, our wombs dry out, our hearts still seek. We pull from deeper reservoirs. The shared silences of past lives float to the surface. The taste of old stories sit on the skin like aged whiskey; strong, deep and wide.
I love him let me imagine a life outside of it let me melt myself wider into a different space under a new sky one without the clouds always forming the shape of his name