You had a way with wordsYou knew how to make them hurtAnd I fell for you instantlyLike a child The way that you spoke with graceAnd the moonlight on your faceI wish I could show youI’d be worth your while So hold meLike you never meant toOh,...
“Wow. Look at that. I need that. That is so pretty,” Scarlett says, pointing at a billboard in the distance entitled “Sephora Collection: Colourful Eyeshadow.” A half-open circular case of eyeshadow is showcased. Its black border surrounds a clear circular window, encapsulating some sort of...
It is ending like this. THUD. I am walking from the village to The Garden. the grass is green it is our place to play. Hope always brings me food to eat together, oh. But, I am waiting and waiting Here, I am sitting here fading. The wind is blowing the blades And the cattails are...
November 2010. It is Tihar, the Hindu festival of lights. For five days, there are fireworks and rituals and prayers; everything is done for Yama, the god of death. Each day something different is celebrated: first crows, then dogs, cows, oxen, and finally, our brothers. Crows...
I’d leave the light on, keep the door unlocked (but you know where I hide the key, the backdoor’s always open for you and Elijah). there’s a place set -- your glass is upside down, so the dust never settles. your empty chair keeps the room hollow, foggy through the fall. I’m sure if you strolled...
He is warmth trickling through the trees; their leaves casting shadows that cradle her soft-bodied stem. A tulip to the sun, she unfolds against his touch she is no longer grace and beauty. She is textured edges and tangled roots she unravels herself before him...
Oh! Vexed candle—you! What sorrows you look into? With your crimson heart turning blue, Like my wounds were of you. As a flaming soul in an oyster's shell, In the silent wisps of air, you dwell. Sculpting your masthead with the turn— As you burn! As we burn! Of the rainbow! Of the...
Words—they come out—a blazing golden Showering refulgence upon this night Out from the winter’s waning crescent— An altering air of mystery. In pebbled syllables—tossing and rippling, Trembling and flirting— And constantly vibrating Upon this heart they merrily flow. Freshly coated—some pink upon pink Jewelry—or a painting itself Resting upon the innocent face A portal to the...
I rolled the cigarette paper between my thumb and forefinger, as the Wild West blew dust and ashtray memories into my mouth. My teeth crunched on gritty rocks, eroded by tides of passing centuries into desert sand. The film coated my gums and my tongue rolled over a jagged molar, like...
The breath of spring births blossoms and young love. A thief of frost: she tongues each valley and kisses lips of dandelions. Watching is the weakened widow who spies upon the mating birds. The blood-red berries, succulent and bare, are plucked off one by one. The lovers prance outside her home lungs bathing in the lilac...