our sweet and sour summer bodies stacked on top of bed sheets and begging for a breeze to pass over exposed flesh. the garden is, for the first time, failing to thrive and sometimes it feels like we are too. stagnation, i suppose, can be common to both people and flowers. lately we’ve been falling asleep to slow, sad songs while i run lavender fingers through your hair in the dark. through my small window i can just make out the silhouettes of leafless, bony oaks and i try to feel still while your breathing changes.
the color left your skin some time ago, but i can still find it in your eyes. a shade that escapes the hands of man. like sunlight dancing on a milky sea. last night i dreamt i’d wrapped you in white bandages and cried over all the places that hurt in you and when we unstuck them my tears had healed you.