Moon eyed she goes 

She is one of the stars

Lonesome she is 

In the presence of Mars

Soon her reflection renews

She is a planetary part apart 

Memories become brand-new 

She is solo in this system 

And as the lights dim 

He becomes hers 

She sucks us in 

Until everything’s hers 

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You’re right

3 years ago, I viewed frogs as aliens

Now I wonder whether they’re angels

Months ago, I hated the sound of songbirds

Now I write their songs

I tweet along

Everything I did, I did do

It still was

Even if it no longer is

Whatever I am

I still am what I was

Even if I no longer am

You’re right

I was right and now I’m left

But the person I was hasn...

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How many times must I rinse off the moon

And unpeel the stars from my skin?

Have someone ask what were you drinking?

How many times must I try clinging to lamp lights?

Try configuring keys into shining beacons?

I cannot see in the dark

Yes, blackouts steal my sight

But when finished,

I wake up feeling feverish

And fear ferments and festers

The night can be sticky

H...

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My hands are patterned by ambitions,

these lines on my skin are wishes,

palms marked like the sky after a shooting star

and shining when they interlace with your fingers,

your skin's wrinkles and crinkles.

The crevices of our skin do not match or meet

the way coloured paths on a map synchronise and intercross,

reaching destinations.

We are separate pieces of meat

but

...

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In the creases of a crumpled T-shirt,
the darkening orbit of an orange pasta stain,
the unhinged playfulness of bright and living eyes…
the golden curls like mazes of cornfields – no way out –
The type you just want to twist around your finger –
I noticed you.
In the unrestrained laughter,
I would recall each word that tumbled from your lips
And hang on them, swing from them,
like branche...

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Your skin like the yellow brick road,

and what is it that creates that rush of blush?

I’d love to shovel out your flesh or drill through your cheeks

to reach those autumn leaves,

that grow behind the golden weeds,

the red leaves that were never green.

No, never new, they never grew,

they stayed and they remained:

Dying, but never dead,

thriving, behind your face of ...

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Have you seen her eyes?

Like searching grass stains

Reaching, reaching up the bark

Of her rough touch, rough hands.

Legs like hay, the hairs like needles,

Could lose thoughts in them, do you understand?

Oh, have you seen her eyes?!

Like dancing lily pads,

I once tried to catch them in the lake.

Silly mistake, oh big mistake

Because she can be a swamp,

Her pull like...

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I’m pretty sure there were tulips in her eyes,

I shouted “Fire! Fire!”,

She took off her sunglasses,

She saw sunrise.

Now I know it, there was a darling rose in her blush,

A honey dew in her stare

But they told me “beware, beware!”

“Have you not been warned of ‘primrose way’?”

Now I felt it, there were dandelions on her lips…

Make a wish, make a wish!

Daisy ...

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Lips: like cliché cartoon roses.

Yes, red.

But open up my mouth,

Those lilies will  -   snap.   -   You.  -   Up.

Thorn in your side.

I think we used to fly with the bats,

The doves always ended up on our dinner table,

I told you it was chicken.

You choked me with Amen,

You squeezed me with your hand for grace,

For grace, from grace I fell

Down from the heaven...

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Inside her closet are the remains of a broken umbrella with the materials in cinders.

Her skin cloak is draped over a spindley coat stand,

most people name it a spine,

most people's are strong,

straight.

They carry the puppet as if a master holding strings...

But sometimes autum's trees fall down

without reason

because nature is flawed.

Sometimes a stem ca...

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