you are pieces bound together by light and promise that form a perfect shape. the shape shifts into reflections of your mood and desire; brown, blonde, cherry. you brush against my skin, coating me in narcotics and childhood dreams. sin is what you make of it. i have built monuments to less and waged war against heaven and earth. i am the middle man, looking for my center. you are the atmosphere composing sutras from rainwater. things fall apart until that last note. the one from your lips that ties it altogether. in that instant i hear the sound of life being given. wishes being granted. the sound of a thousand playgrounds. i hear the grass grow and the sun rise. i hear my heart beating for someone i almost know.