• honeyed

    your gaze has my melting at the seams, liquifying into honeyed voice, there is nothing left but a tone so pure it unfettered all of the world in a single cry

  • terror

    “do you think you made the right choice?”  “I can only make a choice right, even if it tears me apart.” “you are a terror.” “Terror is beauty.”

  • cupped

    I have sweetness cupped between my hands; it asks only to be drunk, and not a lip touches these drops without annihilating

  • spill

    It’s brimming, the moon is brimming, senses collecting, pooling, milky way swirling—come down here—spill down the river; the water lilies await their flowering

  • burned

    i wanted to learn to love the sun, not the dappled green or the shadows it casts, or the glimmer trail across the waters, the slants through my window or even the softness behind winter clouds. I want to love it—raw—and be—burned.

  • summer sun

    you speak the language of the summer sun: brilliance that shimmers so sharp it cuts skin like paper freshly out of a printer/ the edges bleeding life like a scalpel, unstitching flesh from bone,

  • stoned

    you won’t let me read the rest of the story, you hold my limbs hostage, and my eyes glued to you; I will never know the fate of this myth, but sweet, sweetness…I couldn’t look away even if I were strapped to a tree, rocks piled around me, and stoned to death.

  • tipped talon

    that poisoned tipped talon dipped into the hole of my chest,     the fever dreams , / nausea swirling toxic , / quaking—look at me! she scrapes, look at me! monstrosity scintillating, perched, tittering, crickeling curled grin; satisfied,

  • bite

    imbibing, engorging— that bite down the quivering flesh, and those swift legs stretched out prone, wide-eyed gazelle, how sweet must annihilating be to soften into, and how rich and warm that drink must be that only to the last drop does those inflamed eyes, canines unsheathed that you slip…                                                                                                 into oblivion. 

  • wordlings

    wordlings

    borne of the mother tongue these wordlings sing her praises, from her lips they fall shrieking What joy! Stone, feather, purple and flower!           I am a word that came so,                                                         meld it all, your colors and mine and his                                                                 multiplicity is how she speaks                                                         her forked tongue, tastes,  tastes, strike                                                               what ecstasy!