someone who walks with their eyes glued to the street
and tops of strangers feet, i do not want to be someone
who drifts through the brightest constellations without ever
greeting a single star. i do not want to be
someone who forgets to breathe in
the rythmic presence of a strangers heartbeat.
i want to be someone who speaks in scripted ink
hollow yet concrete so that the oceans, rivers and valleys echo
with a voice soaked in sunrise observances;
the gentle breeze from strangers' eyelashes, cloudy rings around irises.
i want to be someone who when their hands become obsolete,
rays of stardust from their fingers creases they'll leave.