pooling

with cupped hands i carefully balance oceans and skyscrapers, grass blades and bayonets.

microcosms of the sub-conscious

we pretend that that we drowned these dreams long ago.

i'm soberly realizing that the only curb appeal of our house are the dixie cups stored

in the dusty bathroom dispenser.

wet feet grip the grime covered rocks on a beach you stood on two years ago.

heavily clouded and thick, we could feel that something had changed.

now we stand in front of versailles gardens and kitchen cabinets,

limes in our mouths

and fists in our chests.

falling in love,

we've learned,

is pluralized

and constant.

there is no beginning and no end

just a constant loop of meaningful embraces

and cotton covered laps.

with one last look at what i hold,

a breeze ruffles and the image shimmers

break apart and let the world drop.