saturntables

tripped down runs
in hose, all wonder
spent on tips
of toes. the under
current of your
rhythm flows through
cloth and filament.

i've been diligent
and posed, you
arch in limbic
recline and coast.
blue fidgets
in violet throes,
losing sight
of specifics
like my eyes and thumbs.

pious grunge
and glow, when you
lose me i know
my digits have
faded. mostly
the hints bruise
and temples
compile the old
with the new.

you prove
that my numbers
are worthy
to shun.