Characters

All I write is him His eyes that bloom like April As we print ourselves in sand The serifs that trail from every word Fallen feathers at our feet The nights- When we were more than naked We were transparent I could feel each rib against mine See right into the core of his chest A pulsating brass mirror I write him And I fold him into fiction Furiously sharpen the seams Thumbnail pushing paper Just Nouns loving verbs, I say Just nouns loving verbs.