Tangled Versions of Us



These little things like sighs;

like brush of fingertips across waiting skin

send soft breaths to petaled places

where thirst for love feels more innocent

than any blossoming flower we have held.


Lips do more than whisper and when

sweet nothings leave prints

and giggles find a place in awakening thoughts.

We meet in meter keeping perfect time

in intimate increments.


Keep my bare feet on a blooming path

and my hands longing for yours


and stay close enough to touch the tremble

when rains come and feel every tousled strand

as we sway


into tangled versions of us.





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