This wasn't no childhood love story, predestined, albeit a bit boring. I didn't meet you on some Sunday morning street; we weren't given serendipity's blessing. We came across each other, second-guessing questionable choice of past lovers and pieces of ourselves we gave away, voices of self-harm on replay. We persevered a little, learned to whittle … Continue reading For Ess
We stopped at the corner store for smokes,
rolling papers and
a couple cans of Coke,
abandoning bicycles with
bent spokes by
The cashier let it slide when we were too
poor to pay
the bill, told us to
come back tomorrow before eleven a.m.
We’d be a county away by then
but I’d send change
in the mail.
Fly away like hunted quail,
avoid wanderlust’s more
populous trails, reminders how
we failed to adapt
We drove all night to where the sun comes up,
posting selfies for no one in
I’m stealing his daughter with
origami maps and
papier mache vows.
If you want to lie beneath the stars after,
two newlywed nomads, I won’t be mad because you
were made for me.
Think of the tall grass as
our own little town, citronella
and the whole
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How is this not the kiss of death, too much tongue and all? How is this woman's entrancing drawl not my undoing, when all that I want is to confirm I'm unworthy? We started this journey, however imperfect, all those moons ago, and although I promised my prose would spare you, I'll never be prepared … Continue reading To My Darling on Our Anniversary
The worst one can do to themselves is train beauty to be seen as banal. The wound is fatal, speaking long term. I sought to set fires without wielding smoke, tried to love without knowing how to fall asleep alone. But all I found were embers and Freudian undertones, identity politics in the safety of … Continue reading Glass Haus
Love is a battlefield, corpses as real as they appear in nightmares; their long quiet stare embedded in my soul like a trench.
True love is a massacre, hail of gunfire across the present tense but dust gets kicked up and the future ain’t friendly with sand in its eyes.
Yeah, true romance is murder, if cynicism is a victim and quick death is the prize.
Love is holding everything I know would die, and choosing to keep its body warm, remove the shiver from its fragile form.
Love is that last defense, an enemy’s babe againt one’s chest, and raising it as your own.
Love is a crone, its beauty a facade sewn over centuries old magic, a visage of home in tragic takeaways, the result of practiced pain, last thoughts before the derailed trains of runaway addages.
(complete and utter madness)
Love is holding a book of perfect…
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Flew to Cologne, to touch cathedrals that don't feel like anything back home. Walked through Madrid alone, to show I'm not my parents' kid no longer. Six-one-three to New York, see? L.A. to eastern seaboard, the more I aspire to escape, the hard it gets to ask what I keep running for, or rather, running … Continue reading Ghosting Anna
Colour in your connect-the-dots, the elephants to your room. Late September canvas holds June's palettes tighter with every passing year, and let's be clear, another summer's gone too soon. Coffee and crayons illuminate a fondness of the dark, despite your neon heart closeby, straddling cheap wine and the youth you've left behind. I don't care … Continue reading Labour of Love
I always thought Love a well-dressed puritan, storied traveler come to negotiate the meeting of minds. He'd arrive holding flowers of fortune, small wealth in his hands. He'd come bearing gratitude, but never demands. His white blazer and khaki complexion only spoke modesty, never perfection. Guardian angel between us, all the years we would yammer … Continue reading Lovers at a Discount
It's not you. It's me. I'm a black and white movie in 4K. You're a 3 am page-turner, but spare me the novel, we're both beginning to show our age. Your book spine is frayed, full of pop culture graveyards that long ceased to be a meaningful reference. I'm a relic, low-fidelity matinee, the Citizen … Continue reading Modern Adaptation
Call me crazy but I think this little thing could work. Might be a masochist but this is probably gonna hurt in the end. Logic has adjourned; it's all conspiracy theories and rule by emotion, when she looks into my eyes and doesn't recognize what's broken. It's all jabberwocky; clocking out, quitting time for grammar's … Continue reading The Maw