sequins misnomer the half way point
with lips pressed between his joints
where paisley candies like an ink-blot test;
tie-dye versions of dirt rubbed on canvas.
we are descriptions of gem…
test my sanity in magnets
so the friction of derma becomes us.
these threads count in pebbles
and morph into a box of rocks.
that’s what’s hiding within–
descriptions in gem.
my mind is heavy.
your breath is heavy.
pressure becomes us,
we are crystallized.