I wish to stand on your rooftop, to stare into the moon’s face and see the reflection
of my eyes in yours.
The seconds blink between our waking hours to confirm, to who,
that we are separate people.
If not just figments of each others imaginations,
then born from the contents of the autumn moon’s ashtray filled with coffee grounds and lotus seeds mixed with turmeric and dill.
A moment passes for us to catch our collective breath as tomatoes turn into apples
rock hard and fallen, soon to be drilled empty by the ground
eaten from the inside out.
Time cries from the clock on the wall, stopping every eleven hours to steal a sip from my cup and spit it into yours.
The sky will again turn clear and the stars will crack into thousands of pieceslike white hot coins to replace the sun.And we will dance together in the glistening shadows of a placewe’ve never been before.