15 February 2019

dreaming: a portrait.

milk-skinned and rosy, he smells of spun sugar when he sleeps. this marvel greets me at hours one-two-three-four, when he sleepy-croons his milksong and i go to him, i will always go to him, and it hangs everywhere now. i am awash, i am sunk, palpable sweetness, immobilizing happiness.

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