VELVET
6.15.20
for someone as pathologically secretive as me
the substance of things hoped for
and the evidence of things unseen defines
magic
youre another year around the sun
and im over the moon
in your garden
eden never tasted as pure
like your fingers on my lips are unsure
if they’re seeking to vibrate with moans
or swallow moral probity
i didn’t know i was speaking about you
when i agreed to re-write old chapters
time has a way
of making compost out of expectations