Spring has a certain sound,
unlike any composition orchestrated...

She chanced love,
throwing fate like two red hot dice...

Is it possible to only exhale
questions when the breaths we take...

Already over, these vines playing
angry melodies upon my palm...

Everyday,
I leave this house parched...

Lavender cardigan, vanilla
shawl, black satin dress...

Questioning everything I do,
I don't trust myself to radiate...

Marilynn, was your story ever composed?
Did you live without any guitar chords...

Narnian dreams attached to lunchbox stickers,
rustic doorknobs, and squealing windows...

Should I approach with caution?
For when my backside is groaning...

Poetry is meant to be tasted, called beloved,
summoned when you have dotted lines on...

The risk of bowing our knees
on the ocean's glaze...