You know what’s funny? I was never allowed to be angry. Not outside of my head, at least; the only place I could truly be free from you- except I wasn’t. You live there too. You live in the poems I read on stage, you live in boxes of our favorite candy, you live in the echoes of my mother’s voice, and most of all you live in my mirror. The one I look at because of you. The one that you shattered a...

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I feel time passing like nails on my skin

Piercing, commanding, but ephemeral

It floats by while I'm left to singe within

Nursing echoes that ring true like spells

Against the auroral skies my head bows down

But never hangs heavy

Evergreen vinyls, abandoned hometown

You still lurk in the shadows of my periphery

I see you when my hands cradle my head

And when I'...

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Our Hummingbird Nests Of Skin
-a sestina of elemental intimacy

Sun fingers her hidden hummingbird nest of skin,
Each twig, love's unfinished sonnet, found by dawn's light.
My lips echo night’s bare swim’s wild lake water,
Our steam now swirls skyward, sisters with the breeze.
Her breathless wink, a covert quest cloaked as touch,
Then silence—inhales between our lingering drip.

Her drop...

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This autumn is so sweet,

it gives me so many presents,

This autumn is my best award,

This autumn is my golden lord.

I am lost in this warm September,

My love looks like an ember,

but only with a tender touch

it turns into a fire and burns a lot.

Maybe it’s my last flight,

so I will hold it very tight. never 

I will not wait for the spring,

I wo...

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Saudade is a feeling that resists translation. Words like homesickness or wanderlust
capture fragments of it, but never the whole. This poem reaches towards the untranslatable:
the unique fusion of longing and loss, of sorrow and tenderness, of absence and living
memory. A sentiment so layered and elusive that it can only ever be approached, never
fully contained.

It is the echo of a song
...

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—a Sestina of one night shared with our sister moon

Night’s first blush leans low against the tide

that licks the sand; moonlight unhooks the darker seams of our skin.

The air stings sweet, crystalline breath of salt.

A feral moon, she leans close—silent, luminous, wet.

Her breasts dip the water; the water dips us—oh…slow pull

after slow pull—silk unraveling into constellati...

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