All that is said, as naturally as he can,
in a manic haze, his crooked smile,
his eyes squint like little cresent moons that've fallen on their sides.
"I'm Tangerine and you're Periwinkle."
Where others see nothing...
this bursts into fifteen immediate muses floating into glittery winds spiraling into the 4a.m. sky for me.
Impeccably personifying us as colors, guided into tools I've come accustomed to.
Or possibly fruit and flowers, create a path to our gardens.
Whispering to a pair of fawn and a mother doe while laughing at my metallic shoes.
Sleep talking to nighttime cats, and wrapping me in deja vu while slipping his magic hand over mine.
Sometimes lacing his fingers with mine like golden crochet needles weaving a story along our palms.


---not finished