later, you develop
the film, months of
collected days
layered with faces, with

your year casts
a menagerie across my walls
i see the lakes outshine
the sand,
i see the coffee rings crowning
the pale birch table,
i see the soundless blush
on your waiting face
as you are kissed, again, again

and i fall asleep thinking of
trellis jasmine, of thin stocks,
of the baby powder fog of

and i wonder if i, too, am a thing
that blooms only at night.

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