I need sight like a mantis shrimp, each eye sweeping its own span of ocean, or eagles who quickly shift their focus, see
Your face as big as the moon. Eclipses me. Tea-stained, golden-leafed. Are we singing or kissing? You pluck planets from their sockets, their cozy
—What is really true about me and my worthiness to be loved? That anyone who asks such questions and buries them in books deserves