the truth is: i left footprints in the tarmac because i know the roads will always love me. you leave traces of tip-toes and secrets in the snow because your eyes enjoy the warmth of wool and i've decided to bear the cold alone.

albeit, you said things like children say curse words in the waiting room--carelessly and breathy, knowing someone would be there to do the punishing. but i flew like diamond-shaped and baby-eye viewed kites that cut your tricks down to size, hoping you, too, would know how it feels to be small.

if i were a whisper, i'd graze upon the lobe of your ear and linger there until you grinned as the sweeping breath of my sweet little somethings clambored forward into the canals of your retrospection. i'd tickle and flick the woven thicket of flesh that beat beat beats against the wall of your imagination; call and seduce the coils of your cochlea so they may unravel the secrets of the universe within you; maybe, if i love you like you do, i'll rest upon the stirrup and slam the hammer again...

i am wearing a fit pair of jeans today. they are snug to my leg lines and bleached like sun-spots on the thighs. but they aren't as embracing and kind as the soft linen grasp of summer's air against my knees, four-door open pop can and stereo-drunk motivation, touched by 65 miles an hour who russels my hair and scratches my eyelids. these are jeans, like the sand is chameleon (from goldenskywarm to silversmilecold). but i'd rather have the wind lick and tear at my bare boy legs.