The Islands

Delos


after I woke up and thought how strange it was not to feel ashamed of this feeling that maybe I could actually kiss him and not be so worried about dreaming or dreams as strangers with something wielding from their content even if perhaps only momentarily strangers or the marks of roses a diffusion that soaks up detail like remember the band name the boy plays in as a heraldic face on a hill with rocks bifurcated on a foggy strangers and shadows collected in grammar exuberantly articulate and wet in the mouth forming portraits of strangers of semantic launching of involving all of us