Walking thru panes of sunlight —
how many hours are we talking?

Fog over my hair.
Big-eyed instincts?

Nothing new. A feeling continues you write until you drop ...
a feeling from in here buried below all the animation.

The half not familiar we’d like to pull off,
replacing that half with stripping down to not talking.

Speaking of you, with you, I like being
charmed and not worrying about what passes through me.
You, me, of course, are an expansive subset of charm, trinkets I believe.