rough rough rough draft

He says under my skin is a waterfall which, I say,
explains all the tumultuous wavering.
He says that sometimes, he is made from
old leaves. I say I can find patterns in these, know
how to smell skeletons of growing branches--
make pictures of ghosts. I know
the patterns of dancing electrons empty valence shells
know electricity. Know secrets,
can make light glow.
phosphorescence
is a slow slow burning.

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