if a pastel drawing could be tall
it'd be Santa Cruz- tall like thick
on the paper but soft and just
tall enough to fit me and
Livy- the body temp
bliss envelopes
the circus around us
stays, we cruise
through the landscape
I think the west coast
looks imagined
and she says it's the garden
of earthly delights
lol, clothes, bacon,
tea and silver
these sharp jokes
for us alone
spill a
feeling
that ends
at our fingers
drag in the sand
darken our eyebrows
it's a playground
I buy the things
that the people here
wear so that maybe
I'll have to stay?
remember the long days
of being babies
and those poems-
when I pass the flat
and easy street corners
spider webs on wet, pink paper
now down the long
california road
I wish to make this
as dense as that tall
drawing, as sweet
and marzipan as
that much pastel
it's almost midnight
and I need to touch on
the ceramic purse-
speech bubbling on the beach
there's no perfect bag
so risky and chic
and I see a free box
with nothing in it
we laugh about
bringing one on the plane
so far I've just touched it
and our fingers are full
we fall on the sand
our ovaries burn
you touch all your socks
in the bird feather sand
plain, painted, people who
watch us hold hands
in circles around us the
circus
