You are that illustration drawn in pencil, where once there was a window.
Now color.
A shape so unrehearsed, you are sprouting unknown shades
referring to themselves in your third person.
Monochromes wait for you to dry.
New color.
A paint truck spilled in summer.
I want to roll in your thunder, dry off
by walking backwards against the rain.
Of all the rainstorms
the world is alive, tasting this one for the first time. Ours.
Leave my chest blushing early plucked, in season, out of ripe.
I am the between-cartwheels-and-summersaults of your
out-of-breath childhood memories.
Catch me
Between
the U
and the S,
the sky falls, we slip into symphonic blues like hula hoop handcuffs.
Your tongue stirs water in my hole, hollow.
I blow kiss bubbles through
to meet your cracked wind pipes.
Mouth to mouth fizz fights.
May I always decorate you without seasonal reasoning
I see my life as a glass half full-squared, when you're in it.
Bring 2 straws.
Copyright &copia; por Fan Club Amber Tamblyn Brazil Todos os direitos reservados.
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