When two hearts
find each other...
And I'll wear cardigans
at the start of August...
I remember the treehouse,
haphazardly built...
Wielding a pen
to the tunes of...
...and if you ask about my well-being,
I am floating over clouds...
Embrace me to the soul
then ditch me boneless...
O dear there is music in my ears
I swear...
What do you want of me?
the ghost, the lone lover writing poetry...
with sardonic air, we bloom tulips and roses
on our tongues, perfuming every word to...
Something in your words stands out,
whether pushed into low punctuation...
Honeyed words pour out in a continuous
stream onto your collar bones, the horizon...
the impossibly soft hours of dawn
patinas into weightlessness...