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.