a momentous list of moments in the form of a poem
we embroider strings between faces and places,
demarcate ink-stained spaces
of areas plagued with another’s footsteps,
paths traversed in timeless coversation,
with ice cream, melted
between cursive, between cups, & canvases
between tongues curled around the Language of
Loneliness, of Loveliness,
of paper slotted in paper –
at least two weeks late.
we make homes out of cake-tiered old houses,
a river stirring the green and black –
Russian Rouletting the false dichotomy between
legality and art. on napkins,
the faded lipstick of unknown lovers
exhale into this unknown.
you flower all these seats,
coffee-tint every word;
we practise cartography,
transcribe : choreography,
our lack of chronology !
this house, though still unmapped;