finding a name
to describe your face,
I find it on the ground: lying
limp, tattered- a muddied lace.
Tag Archives: sharp as knives
Nurse this ache
so she fell, easily forgetting
how the letters of his name
curved into a warning: slanting
and with the same sharp edges
as the sadness he left to bloom
in her heart, beating against a cage
of bone: a flock of birds, injured
but struggling to take flight.
water, again
rain raising the levels outside, you talk about being stranded, stuck within white walls and glass windows while (the door having been left slightly open-) water shyly walks in the room, dressed up in slow waves and floating dirt, voice soaking through the body of this dry world, the strangest of sounds: you strain, try keeping your feet anchored to the linoleum floor, the air in your lungs stifling a shiver, your fingers twitching, grasping at the bare space with a word water cannot understand: swim
Bottled
Relevance
What I notice is not the expansiveness of the sky
but the cloak of clouds, dripping gray
welcoming my day. I enjoy our conversations, the way you look
at me, yes –
shy eyes, sly eyes, fox
eyes on the slant of my neck, but dear,
did you really have to send me
all those letters? You knew
how letters were never fond of me. I find them
in tin boxes, neatly stacked together, snuffing their voices
silent. I’m sorry, what were you
saying? You know how much I love speaking
of sadness. These gray clouds brimming wet, ready
to douse us clean.
