I HOLD YOUR HAND

your soup has other thoughts about the rainbow on your sleeve
bleeding through the pinch of your cardigan with a numb ripple
driven like a spike into peat moss, repeating. thumping a glum root
in your pale…. where your songs come from and your silences
prevail.

I steep your tea. we dream in place like zombie hornets too drunk to drive 
to a hive mind that a heart wants to talk too with the microphone on.
we’ll remember what we must, but until then; forget like gods.

as I hold your
hand.