confetti in my ears,
popping
like the red fox’s cry
piercing the midnight,
all its amoebic clamour,
we dance up to
each others’ rooms,
looking for cottoned secrets
and cocooned happiness
that breaks up into feathers of peace
becoming our gossip’s breakfast later.
we made this kitchen blossom
as a slaughterhouse for anxiety:
rosicrucian laws of friendship.
and others judge and scoff,
but the kinkiness never fades-
you see, it is our heart
and bubbling breaths are the
oceans of this apparition’s soul.
you see, it’s been weeks since
I’ve cried, and I know who
I need to thank and why!
