while the flowers are still yellow

my desires are simple

turn on the ceiling fan of love

to see what happens

I will want to touch the roses

rolling like a busy 8 ball

break expensive windows

a ladder made of cards

spit out the roundest rock

I have a crush on tap water

we were given fruit names as nicknames

insert oxygen here

a rubber daisy

gentle momentum

between context and citizen

garden of mirrored flowers

there was dirt on my hands

a memorandum of understanding

hinge, gesture, money, freckles

we radiate in cardboard

you are confronted with yourself

in other words, clairvoyance

carrying odd vases

it is strange to be alone