constellation

these ragged lines like bed hair outline your softness
a constellation trace, these dots on your face all the way to hands

this is a blog of selfish reasons. There are youths out there who take the bus past midnight for the rides, a cyclist who cannot find his way; she finds her button nose too big, her face a little old for her age. how crazy, this tea feeds ecstasy, wired in artery.

our world may be a giant hologram
thanks love.