Second Hand

they are times likes these that

I think of

Richard Wagner

writing Siegfried Idyll

and of

Van Gogh

quickly removing an ear

I think of John Donne

using a flea to express

himself

I think

of how I am

so compelled

by the way you breathe

when the moon has not yet 

risen 

but the sun has completely

set

and how your concealed legs

take the shape of 

a Mediterranean paradise

and the

way dessert is

so many

times more comforting when

we make it

together

and then

they are times like these

I realise 

mornings can sometimes be greeted 

with

open arms and black pupils

~Tchaikovski (Чайковский). and benadryl.

Love,

Digress