Amplexus
Please tell me my fortune from the moldy markings in the bottom of my unwashed coffee cup. The simplest magic must endure so lets decide the crescent moon means something different tonight and construct the shrine: swoop the gentle harvest, clutch a hay penny before it slips the palm and reenters circulation. I tell myself to cherish the crush, bow to the bushes, keep reverence afloat in my pooling fury.
I biked past an old woman on her porch in a floral house dress arm outstretched pointing towards the horizon with three pigeons feasting on top her human perch. My world turns on these moments in ways I cant explain to you. lets exchange the warts of time spent close in this strange puddle we hatch into and wriggle through. Help me hold onto some kind of meaning like two mating toads entwined.













