The King Stag by Anon

This means home.

Your imprint.

My fingertips tapping

Brail songs along

Your spine.


You sleep in me.

I take my rest

In you.


We plug each other in and

It all plays

12 volumes higher.


One breath in and four out.

No looking glass.

We dive into bottles with

The same

Velocity.


I run.

You match.

Just open windows.

All oxygen.

And acorns.

And light bulbs.

And growing antlers.


And whizzing bubbles of

Yes.