slow dance

rowboat of wonder, i am nothing but a tumble of tiny wishes making their way home from war, i am tucked under the sink, folded in the back pocket of a world still blazing; january sings the same song: the warm by the heater, hum under the fluorescent light, tuck inside the moon tonight, wrap yourself up by the light of the fridge, tune your brain to the chime of some electric buzz you cannot place song; race yourself backwards in time, see who finishes first, let the flame spread a little further — i can walk a little farther, i can do it. i am waiting to plant all my seeds. for now i sit and stare at the legs of this chair and admire how the cabinet sings to the tile; how the rug one day will dissolve, all my bits of skin gone with it; how the sky has only 4 moods in the winter, and none of them look like you; how heat like friction will sit inside the walls, fold its hands and dream of sleep ; how the particles outside sit still and wait , some fever dream that never breaks; the slow dance of particles twirling to a silence we cannot hear

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