Happiness

dance (with me).

the immobile, the henna; and archaic sands
in blue fibers of fields,
as the moon-eyed dreamers,
you and I—we’re in anamnesis of the womb,
our cerise

bloom.

Desert, her eyes are morsels

to the jasmine and roses once grown from her wrists,

between the flowers in each white finger,

whilst the moon falls, leaves barefoot in winter,

deserved for posturing an abyss

this dance, like an atramentous sea;