• uncorded

    she only is when her love for the sun dies, uncorded; light must die for her eyes to see, and who doesn’t love her? every poem and ballad has been written to her name; i am not sure why, she is only a rock with burrowed radiance; why must she shine so?

  • slower

    i knew the ending before it began; like two roads slipping over and away, i hadn’t known then that the tides are not only one-way; the script ripped from my hands, i hadn’t known i had any part to play but that its ended without having asked me, had i known, i would have read…

  • the face

    It searches for its reflection; in the glare of the kitchen window, swirling suds, the scrape of the wooden chair, shutting door, clink of silver on the rim of the coffee mug, it searches in the footsteps, in the sighs, in the click-clack of the keyboard, it searches everywhere but the face,

  • red

    it made my eyes flip inward, only the whites showing, full moons–i wish i could drink those salted waters as sweetness; they painted my hands and feet red, they do not know, they have always been red, bleeding was the birthright—but, bleeding for you was my promise,

  • sunsets

    i hate sunsets. i hate it when it dips down the horizon, bleeding through and through, till everything darkens, and you think it’s all over, until you see a million more sun spilling all over the sides, overfill—

  • live

    “it’s a secret,”“you won’t tell me?” “it’s not that i won’t tell you, it’s that i can’t”“why?”“you live it to know it,”

  • yes

    “the stars are falling, can you see?” “yes, i can see them through your closed lids,” “hm…can i stay here, every day, every day, forever and forever? in your field of roses, milking moon, and your warm back?” “yes”

  • unclaimed

    don’t ruin it, these eyes when they open to you, please, the shutters are painful, i have learnt distance can kiss from the soft slopes of your shoulders, from the tremble of my hands, i know i spell love where fear exists; but, i can’t help it, i must make angels of monsters, daydreams of…

  • less

    “it’s cold,” “it is, isn’t it?!” “why are you so excited?”“‘cause we agreed on it; it’s somehow shared, and then you feel…less cold…”

  • backbone

    snap— “you cut the pincers like this,” crack— “break the backbone like this…you see? there are no gentle hands to eat,” my fingers curl into fists, “don’t worry, flowers will eat you one day too!” she winks,