ur sleeping on the couch

u know how to read, right?

there are peachpit suns in an acrylic blue sky, light spilling over cotton ball clouds like apricot juice. sweet, sweet. golden. soft beams staining the sugar-powdered tips of mountains. nothing here is as sweet as you, dripping nectar and raw saccharine. you are fresh fruit and honey and cream on strawberries. you are more than the world really has to offer. i cannot turn you into chords or music or a symphony so i will turn you into words or a book or poetry. take my candy dictionary and keep it.