You wear fangs
to kiss me...

Ode to the man who once learned to weep,
Ode to the winter, the shepherd and his sheep...

we will never run out of
writing for the things...

Love is the only joke
in which I fell for...

Until there’s nothing
more to love...

The sunrise is blushing pink,
seeping through gaps in the curtains...

I wrap myself
in cotton compliments...

it stirs
in the deepest...

She fell pregnant.
He remembered the words...

The campfire is comforting;
our palms are warmed...

If you go fishing by morning light,
there are trinkets and jewels upon the lakeside...

I still find comfort
in the way you run your fingers...