The smiles formed in lines, with a quiet
Smirking sort of joy
I see you back then, flame-hearted
Fiery laughter
Pouring at my nails,
Ebony tufts, breaths
Like silent reigns
Running to Satan with your shoes in the mud
Petticoats drowned in lace
Harpsichord born, and aching with blood
Tearing aside the bows, dental pleasures
Growing like marshmallows
In hands that slide into petals
Almost-sunshine in our bedspread fort
Almost marbles with heart-strings taut
My fumbling storyteller,
Tell me again?
A smile;
Formed in lines of quiet joy
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