Demure

Taxes, cribs still in

their boxes, birthday cakes with

Alas, I'm best in

small doses. You must let your

The space in my heart

for you is overgrown with

My dreams are figments

of fantasy thrashing at

When did thirty stop

feeling like a death sentence

I will shed my skin

of cynicism and make

Falling into old

habits like water carving

Stand on the edge of

epiphany like morning

Your face is a night

sky, scatters of stars lighting

Woman is wonder, and

the sky cracks at the shake of

Death shakes off the dust

on his pin-striped suit and greets

May my body feed

you, my blood sustain you. All

There is still time. Till

mossy bones crumble and teeth

I search for purpose

in the roots of my veins and

In love with dreams of

what could have been, bitter from

The older I get,

the kinder I am to the

What a burden to

pour into cups that would not