be sunrise and mocha and tourmaline for me
this eve. i try to catch butterflies and moonshadows
and flit by empty, as always; as always, i taste of
woodworked veneer, crisp polish, of cuneiform
stencilled into wet clay. my daily routine
consists of a rubik's cube of salty hellos
and latent goodbyes. give me sun just this once.
give me a bouncing ball aimed between these posts.
i'll dodge to one side, if only to let you
see the light. if only to let you taste this night.
i wish for spinning discs of mirrors,
of hallways fixed upon a vignette of a girl
in a park: a scraped dress, worn taffeta,
a seaward sparkle of oysters and paua in her eyes.
give this to me: give this upon my raise and call
and slinky bluff. i only have three of a kind;
is that enough? is that the sound of
moreporks, tuis and fantails
brushing this night?
spin, spin, give this to me.