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practising triangulation as a method of self-care
poorly chosen safe-words
re-entering a room for a lost thought
no way left to ground the current
scarce moments of impartial attention
open and in return they return
sleeping is a very slow dance
neighbouring ways contoured by the sun
turn based expressions of love
washed down with a slippery gaze
parallels avoiding the distance
to please the heaviest of the lighter parts
budding under habitual mountains of sugar
flowers to small to be mown
the church is flammable by design
looking for a soft spot to enter
there are dirtier ways to predict the future
a finer mesh to keep you out but let them through
a weight to weigh a face down
fractal-like blooming of needs