i picked up an old poem

written in 2004, by us, then, we called ourselves "lemon and egg"

Moist geometry unfurls.
Dawn flushes the birds from their silence
— a birth every morning
with disappearing mist —and there,
under a shaggy hem
of no reminder of the breaking
the halving of the sense at reason’s falling.
the heart’s regions emptied out.
His rough palm grips the bruised
root of a rolled tobacco
releasing scent of a more
legendary bloom. His pelt
glistens, her words
trapped moths in his uncomprehending ears.
Wings of flowers fall
He sits breathing breathing.