Let the streetlamps burn,
dwindling at the flecks
of dusty rays
upon smudged cheeks.
Let the crickets whisper
in copper branches
spun with tears of the
boy fishing for dreams.
Let the morning glories
crumple like wet moths
and the bluebirds
lullaby their flock to sleep.
Let us cover the open windows
with sheer, white drapes,
and dismantle the stale air
with flowered hair.
Untangled from the barb,
with the vines of each finger
interlaced with the other's
let's fall in love
like our homes are still intact.