In Which I Pray to My Pillow.

Your words soothe.
Pours like milk-
Halts the global shift
Of my inner-child’s need
To spin out of control.

The circus
Inside my head
Is populated
By Argentinean
High school
Spanish teachers,
Painted bride’s maids,
Pixie haircuts,
And slow
Tangos
Over a shared
Game of pool.

Your words allay.
Wrap around the fissures
In my life
Left parched for tears
And draws their curtain.
Sutures
With a kiss,
A breath,
The orchestral diversity
Of my aspiration.