a plucked tongue, uprooted and transplanted in
foreign lands before the seed was sown...

on this night, i ask whether
the heart is brittle or were the...

with soft yearning, i shall write of you tonight.
the skies simmering away the stars might have...

and yet, it manages to swell again;
the sadness is lamenting again...

you ask, what foods i crave?
you...

saccharine verses coats my palate;
a waxy mouthfeel that one grows...

the clock takes to 4/4 time;
i'm here but rooted somewhere else...

you—an almost ache, almost wound, almost lover,
almost return to self, almost summer, almost a...

terrified of the light, we die with a mouthful
of words that took root on our tongues...

life agitates in the cracks between the heart
and the soul, blooming in whole, not parts...

the worst part is the after hours, when floating
memories blur into one another kaleidoscopically...

peered into the belly of the beast
that toils for pageantry, theatre...