You gasped when I gave you my hand
At the house filled with bird feathers;
When I asked if I could tuck you
In my pocket and take you for a ride.
You turned your head at the sight
Of my fingers like chopsticks
And the back of my head like a
Rough shag carpet from a 1970s living room.
You gave me a wink when I told you
That I had always wanted to ice skate
On Arctic glaciers
Or plunge my head beneath the spray
Of an elephant’s spout.
And when I first confessed that I could
Not see over the tops of the railroad tracks
You smiled and told me that the weeds
Will grow thick but the rocks live longer,
And even when you were the last in line to
Brush your hand over the sheep’s thick tangled belly
I wanted to guide you through the thickets.
And I chuckled at the thought of taking you
To see the old houses made of bricks
Or the strange dancers who ask for money on the streets.
Because you seemed like you had your eyes
Set on the the sleepy lotus’ soft delight.
But with the feeling of your skin like the
Crisp clean sheets I slide over my body
Or the way you close your mouth like an oyster
And throw your hips over the top of a street lamp
I can see that fingerprints are everything
And with time it all made sense.