NostalgiaI miss kissing you.
crooked kissesAn old man sits at a bus stop,his ragged clothes soakedthrough to his creaky bones.He grips his beggars cuptightly, but instead of coins itoverflows with rain water.Passersby pass by withoutgiving a second glance, briefcases clenched in swinginghands, Bluetooth plugged intotheir ears. A little girl dressedin pink polka dots prancesto his side. Her mouth movesquickly and his takes time toform words. She giggles,drops coins into his cup, andgives him a kiss on the cheek.He laughs a crooked grin.
a map to icebergsHere is the truth: there is ice floating behind the calm of your eyes and the set of your jaw warns me to tread lightly around you. You are an iceberg, strong and silent and frozen to the world, and I am a shipwreck just waiting to happen. One of these days, we're bound to collide.Here is the truth: I've tried to scale your frozen walls a hundred dozen times but I always find a way to fall down. You are an insurmountable force of nature, and I can't help but stand in awe of your distaste for things that are not your own. My timber limbs are drawn to you and I can't stop myself.Here is the truth: I fall asleep counting the ways your expressions change. You have a different face for every mood and sometimes, I say something stupid just to watch your eyebrows shift. You are a hurricane and I am the ocean, swept along beneath your layered skirts, shattered and shaking, just trying to follow your lead.Here is the truth: you are always one step ahead of me, and I think I might be using a
Pockmarked CollarbonesSoft,slow kissesacross swan-dive necksand pockmarked collarbonesbearing the weightof the clouds.French vanilla lip glossand glitter snowflakesflecking from my lotion-smooth skinto your stop sign sunburns.Artistic fingerssplayed like ivy vinesacross fishnet tightsand trembling thighs,half-pitched moansof caught-in-the-moment feelingstumbling into buzzing ears,the raging infernoof your last name replacing minedrowning outthe shrill sirensthat might have saved us.Like fallen sparrows,feathers snappedand beaks still emitting silent shrieks,we broke across the concrete,bloodrunning like yolkfrom a dozen different places,bonesa striking whiteunder the tornado-gray sky.A better natural disaster than lovein the heat of July,and I think I'll name it after youand your pits-of-midnight eyeswith my last gasping breath.
Flowery SkinsWe pull apartThe petalsOf flowers,And allIn the nameOf love.But if it's true,And our loverLoves us not...Do we becomeThe flower?A little girl strides over,Her face a river of tearsAs she picks us up -She begins to tear us apart,Petals of an innocent white,As she sobs in a saddened rage -One by one, we're torn like skin,Feeling the pain similar to thatOf the scars on her picking hands -Carefully, we fall to the ground,Splattered with our blood of life,Put in the place of our murderer -And as she finds her answer,Realizing that he loves her not,We are left to rot like a broken heart.
Cloudburst Aerosol This o v e r r i p e grapefruit s u n r i s e peels and eats away at the start of day from the inside out, as mouths salivate at the sight. This moody morning bay reminds people of the days they chose to either rip their raging loves a p a r t or devou
Kissing in the blue darkHurt me take me down down downShow me you'll never be aroundto watch in woe as I drownin my ocean of mortification Make me understandyou've forgotten how you once fondly named my skin your golden sandHow you've wishedupon each and every single strand of the devouring waves in my hair That your oncestarvedgaze at my honeycomb lips is nowbut a passing remark part of a requiem-like dream