her face down-turned : these days.

coffee strained eyes. cried the color out a few months ago.

new greyed view doesn’t suit her.

left a letter draft: sits, waiting

to be sent in five , six

,  million years . can’t close the

matter right off?

quiet slogan ,  printed worn

to defend white

shirts she wears ,  still ,  every time.

life spilt errywhere’ ,  of circumstance ,  born

so ,  see.

and when there’s no step backwards ,.  every. one we

tentatively spoor ahead.





Not a Haiku

you bumped into me today- intentionally.

do it again.


shining constantly in motion white blare solid glare speeding, slowing, raising, going blowing past at midnight whispering silently through hot, dusty back allies , dirt clumps forming as they brush sweaty bangs backwards. can’t sweep singed curl beneath this crooked … Continue reading


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I adore how mischief

tugs at your lips,

playing them for

a guarded smile.

Pulls at your cheeks

sinking forever into,

the folds upon

your stubbled chin.

Dimples rise up

creating the illusion that,

your cheekbones

have dissolved.

Arched ’bout your face

the fingers of mischief,

purposefully tease your

stubborn visage.