Neurosity LXXXV: meditations on triangles in the early morning rain

dead leaves float free like emotions
with an equestrian discipline, cloistering
patterns of liquid hardness lightly aligned
with the borrowed warmth from your barefoot
contessa. the momentary solitude of mental
misfires hustle rational thought without furnishing
proper connecting dots in return. the way deer chat
on people’s lawns at dusk in your home town where
rivers flow in the wrong directions and smell like sulfur;
a town full of rawboned cows and crocked roads,
twenty churches and no bookstore to be found.
on your bed, you sprawl out restlessly thumbing
my words, allowing them to permeate your mind,
and decide that loneliness does not have to be absolute,
for now, even, just for now, but the physicality of words
is stale in comparison to the acute peppery-sweetness
of freshly chopped emerald basil. let me stay,
let me stay with the ease of watercolor