for Lindsay

Please forgive me if I slip below. While you’re drawing mustaches on everyone’s religion. Forgive me vents trickling down the ashy aisles of your volcano. You trace panic kisses. You who are this fearless cloud. Forgive how I jut lit with trolls over silk water. What are you sprinkling. While you’re thinking about rolling your own. What can you forgive. Meantime I’m cross-legged. Charcoal laughter. Please forgive me if I don’t look at the light. Just to climb up that hill. You who are this inflamed slumber. Empathetic daughter. Forgive me if I’m drafty. The mustaches are all three feet high and covered like Yeti. Wolfman’s white lips.

I’d give anything to be your sketch-pad.