Kaya

The temperature of this water will never reach the fervor of my heart, the leniency of its pulls and the accretion of honesty in its atrial valves.
Is it enough?
You asked me if you could touch the sky. And I sort of ignored you.
Some nights are more magical than others--blessed with the blisses of worn velvet couches, a thousand paper cranes flocking to find their way home--one having lost its way--and the clicks of spotlight tapped tongues.
Am I enough?
It's the kind of cold day where short skirts and kitten heels lose their aesthetic and where temperatures elide.
Why am I so angry?