of telling

my teller is lovely
as moon skies and telescopes

this reminds of
childish affairs

but our characters
are past age limit
of tales bout fairies
and kisses in meadows

i'd ask him
over
invite him for tea

he must be tired
too many moon changes
too many stars
too many spins, dust, myths of gods
his eyes hurt
i know they tear
even turned kaleidoscope on him

my tea is
hot,
it screams

his hands are
red,
and bitten at

his fingers twirl
spoons
his grins ruckus me
and
he looks at me
through blue eyes

if he sees broken
and
i am broken
when does it
become