daniel

grace yanucci | Spring 2022

A connection which feigns that
of ball and twine.
Unfurling in thick gnatty loops,
continuous.
A hunger to know the thoughts that slide
Gooey under layers of
withheld watery desire.
Rung out, dank and succulent
Our strings—of jute and linen—entwined as such,
Cannot melt from the heat and water
We have exchanged.
I will always envision you, elementally alone,
In your spot of blue suede.