rythmic    tongues
           wagging constellations
   on your porcelain
           collarbone

searching for
        a source
   to get   home
through your red
        pages:
i let my fingers
   do the  w a  l   k    i     n      g
  
this casual thing
    s p i r a l i n g   into
    a series of cataclysmic
                 >raptures<
    making me
  a casualty

freedom    is the
     drug sold
   to those   who can't make
                a choice
so    here    is      mine:
 
3hree3hree3hree words
           will plant me
                
               here
  
       where our tree
     will         BLOSSOM
                  tearing through
        the sidewalks
of fear

speak
  and ye
shall bind