golden 

She called you Rapunzel and you
swish your tied hair back and forth,
swish your hips back and forth.
Show me pictures of your rats and how you look when the sun hits your face. Warm.
I want to know what makes you
smile at night like it’s morning
and you have the entire day
and you want it. 
Tell me how more about what impossible must be possible, mathematically speaking of course.
How our recent discoveries mean more is 
boiling under the surface. 
I watch your freckled face like
I watch the stars. With curiosity 
and awareness of the space between us.

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