the sounds are getting louder
and the wick is losing its fire...
How do you escape
The very need to escape...
where the sun begins,
and you end...
Some days I'm very much
in the now...
a little past midnight, and i'm spilling again -
in a drunken stupor, and i'm spilling all the...
We sit here
and wait...
and then, you –
picturesque, plaited hair unfurled into loose...
Your love
tore my poetry...
I often forget you
in the sun...
It was a fierce short summer.
A ripe trunk had died...
My cramped fingers cavort
(in the crooked nooks...
She shrugged her
shoulders as if...