#21dayslockdown

Jaadu I'm waiting for you to give my body abilities to optimally utilize the solar energy. 🖖

well, love, I don’t much laugh out loud these days. there may be times when I tell you I do, inscribing my brittle attempts as I endlessly move

these rooms against the wing of my skimming hand. this space of orchid green has the texture of a chrysalis; the same scent as glass under March’s

glaze. did I ever say, the hinges on my windows scrape in sepia tones? if sleep arrives, when it wills, I conduct my outline edgeways along the sheets,

expecting hysteria-flecked dreams that shift my bedframe inches across the floor. rarely do I rise in the same place I fall. that’s when I read Nabokov--

before day wheels into its open field. carefully I measure the tincture used to rinse my hair and anoint the wounded houseplants with neem, waiting

for your script to pare and salve the plaintive remarks of strangers. you, a tender band of preservation. on the road yesterday, a stranger took

me to the path of escape, over the cadaverous grounds of the temple. absent from everything confined, my mind latches onto the civil

phase of twilight, the timepiece of waves rolling against home’s coast. old arches above the stucco of vital laughter, blonde wine kept ice-cold

upon the table. sun’s bleach and all the brine I’ve ever craved at the canals of toes; my neck and earlobes. how long I’ve learned by going, and this