Clay-smelling objects,
mud plates and bowls...

Did I not stir the sharp taste of past
in my sweetened cup of tea...

On my soul
my darkest secrets...

The sky smothers me with showers of cold
but I grin as though, I am soaked in gold...

It was a fierce short summer.
A ripe trunk had died...

Transparent water bottles
smell of fresh books...

I halt my fears on
the chalk cliffs of my life...

You drift away like a mad wave
never knowing what you're...

Expressions traverse through each
fleeing thought penetrating from me...

How would it feel to love you,
take you out of your misery...

I hear myself breathing at night and it's
as though I keep a deep well inside of me...

Sailing in a breathless
pause when she with her...