She loves the pages of me, like her favorite book adding small uneven folds to specific moments saving them for later look. She re-reads with braille, a language that molds itself like wet clay on my ...

I'm taking pulls from a bottle filled with milky clouds; violet storms with a chaser of gravity that seeps onto my tongue... It keeps me grounded to this kingdom that lives to the left of the clouds, ...

She traces out different continents down his spine, points out his freckles; like constellations in the moon kissed sky. She gives each vertebrae and shoulder blade a different season, she points out ...