Isograft

Please tell me how a moon can tap along to a
symphony while you are poking at my toe-nail-polish and claiming how much need
and want
are inside of me.

Please tell me how your skin feels more ideal than an identical pair of eyes in an el car at seven-oh-three in the morning
when i just put away your letter.

Please tell me how to recreate this without harmonizing too much or overcooking this
prime cut of
cavil tendency so that one day i can be proud of calling your face my own.

We started in Tahiti

eating blue crabs shaken loose from a coconut tree
before cascading down the pelagic trail to where a formal sir shook his head to remind us that dinner reservations need to be made at least two to three weeks in advance.
Where to go after that we didn't know so we scratched our faces, popped,and dove back in.

this time the trail took us north back to what we knew: mud, sticks, shallow. We tried to swim but our feet stuck together, turning us into creatures not far from the blue men of the Minch but honestly how many times can I lose myself in this aquatic form of thought?

We keep starting and turning but the mud sticks and keeps us stuck there with our ankles wound together and our feet bare, letting us stay still until i fell left and he felt right. Say it again in polish, the last sound will rhyme and we'll all be fine.