::11:12:07::

::: Trace Me :::

White washed lacquer driven spaces-
Expansive.
A kiss never feels like it does imagined.
Like a hammock filled with your thoughts.
Swing towards me. Towards you-
you, with your imagination
your tounge driven verses.
I want to tip your hammock over,
lie above your thoughts,
Sticky my fingers through the string holes,
imagine you were the universe,
direct your stars into canopied configurations.
I would let you feel the moment:
3 am and six more hours left to sleep.
Some people seem familiar to me,
pushed through shaped holes.
You feel effortless. Swaying.
Strum the broken parts together,
loop them into knots.
Tight. Tighter.

Written by: ~ Saskia