the sleepy storm of your aeroplane fingers
hurricaning gentle rushes along the tips of my ear flesh--
no, i did not say stop
as a child in your arms, I wish for more wishes
too few are the moments we glide beneath our eye sheets
tucking our tears into slippery sleep
when does wait turn into savour?
jester flowers dance jangly yellow beneath my feet and i feel
the gentle grumble of the wind's distaste through my ear pipes
along my jaw; my straining neck
a furore of bent elbows and outstretched arms tasting cloud whispers
on my cheeks, on my lips, and my hair no longer obeys the law
is this how it is to fly? arms wicked propellers and spinning
turning running sideways centripetal;
my centre? is where, is where?
i am your el(e)-o-c(tro)ution
you are my hard starboard.
everyone was once a smaller face to cry