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fyn gula
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i walked down the green hallway past the purple walls where pictures of hilary hung, fotos taken in antwerp, when danny's mane was in his eyes and he was just learning to jump again. it is a sleeping house, just past 6ooam, and when i enter the paprika room i hear your peaceful breathing, as if in your dreams
you fly with the canadian geese, wings flapping in unison, the rhythm of existential wonder.
when my hand snakes under the thin blanket, up your silken legs, over your panties, to your warm back, you groan awake and whisper my fingers are cold but nice. and then you float back to sleep blowing the kiss that ignites my day.
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