not poetry.

juice pees english unspeaks your poems grow legs and sneak into my daydreams gently unfurling my memories

sparkles flow through my gummy your echoes reflected hurry up, we have 7 more minutes to sing before your shadows disappear into the trees, the trees disappear into the campfire before all the languages roll away from my tongue before our most vulnerable pieces are melted together before the bears breeze pass our tents, quietly, quietly before this poem ends

on this stolen, foreign land we lie awake, whispering, murmuring into every fabric of our being now our time entangled, threaded together, not quite yet a piece of land but enough for us to fall asleep