Reverie.

“Ah, September! You are the doorway to the season that awakens my soul… but I must confess that I love you only because you are a prelude to my beloved October.”

I think of you so often you have no idea.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent, starving I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disquiets me, I search the liquid sound of your steps all day. I hunger for your sleek laugh, For your hands the color of the wild grain, I hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your loveliness, The nose, sovereign of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, And I walk hungry, smelling the twilight Looking for you, for your hot heart, Like a puma in the barren wilderness.

“Today is the sort of day where the sun only comes up to humiliate you.”

I am the creator of my very own self and I intend to treat me like my greatest masterpiece.

To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth — I count that something of a miracle.