Merigold Couch

There are two beds in our little home, yet we sleep every night nustled against each other on our old, warn in, marigold hued couch like pieces of an elaborate puzzle. My soft curves cap the rigid angles of his appendages as his stubbly beard and whispering winds tickle the nape of my neck.
Every night he removes the mask from his face, one of many facades he upholds for all the different people, and hangs it in the closet before letting me caress his soft, warm, real flesh.


You put too many noises in my head at once;
I need more processing space
the area I exist in-
you fill it
with hums and whistles
basses and thuds.

Stay here,
stay here in the daylight
as we animate together
and apart
in sync.
We dance!
Together to a constant
hanging melody with the hopes of
one day flying. Away. Away.

We can find the silence in the rain
and the warm, moist breaths
of one another.
As we brush cheeks and eyelashes
like lovers,
we are lovers.
Lovers in this dream.