the shirt was pulled like the night O’ slow.
she held my hand and said “can i take off your shirt?”. and i said “yeah, but you'll see me”. and she said:
“i want to see you.”
the shirt was pulled like the night O’ slow- thrown to the wind, by the hands that know.
she held me – skin on skin.
The trees outside grasped
blackness, stars and
crimson roof tiles.
Her brown eyes hold
The rose
Her breath
The star.