Smut steeps, clamped into shapes from my fist, and the light hue in the corner only catches at the golden cow when I watch carelessly.
If I flip the latch and the metal inlet swings open, this room changes. You said you loved me with many doors, and I asked how that was possible since I’ve ripped all the frames into slips of paper and lodged them in crags and under the geologic fault lines.
But I see now that the earth is simmering joy and you love widely. This night is only gauze we can carefully sling back and wind around our wrists before it aches.
The tallest trees have roots in the sky.