some days it is eerily like holding up a mirror some days not at all it is those little surprising differences that pull me in otherwise, i would have to admit my narcissism
tiers, ruffles, and layers drab, grey, brown, and black socks dream in stripes dark rims framing the eyes
in frigid basements watching from across table tops sketches come to life disorganised but always professional
a silent awkwardness i find endearing a certain androgyny to be admired
sneezes come in clusters like bearberries that have stained embarrassed cheeks with nervous laughter
a wild fierceness behind dark eyes yet stillness and meditation in quiet hibernation
a healing comfort in personal familiarity some days it is eerily like holding up a mirror some days not at all
to hold her hand would make me melt