tiny ode to this & that
Do they know how much I think of them? Write of them? My boys. I hold their long gone image in the palm of my hand. I take them everywhere. Is this love? This thing that will never give up?
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the book of love
Going away to come back different, changed. Isn't that what I've been taught to do? Trees peeking little kinds of green, mind lost on a loop. I'm over being over & over. Say it out loud, giant, big, fat, jinx. Curl my lip at
little hit #4
body moves in tandem, I'm aching from a cold place wipe tear stains on the soft curves of your face exiled in gas filled brain I used all my energy to try and contain
little hit #3
my mouth wants another to meet it soft, wet warmth familiar motion learned fumbling this is one thing I can't do myself
little hit #2
worn out memory, he longs to be my muse shelf full of half pulled clues make a shape, spilled ice cream stain not used to this from you