formlessness

You appear in my life at the strangest times,

Often as only a glimpse;

Like an ungraspable trail of light,

And even though it's only for the

Shortest while, and

No matter how tragic I feel inside,

Then,

I feel happy again.

If this isn't magic,

It is something to believe in.

---

lemon laden

a puckered sob

scan the horizon

for light

the smell of snow

in dying day

labored lungs

winter wary

magpies murmur

the crows all call

holy holly on

hallowed branches

just a sip

with false bravado

the ice prickles

I hope he breaks, just a little— not loud, not shattered, but cracked like porcelain beneath too much silence.

I need to know it wasn’t all in my head— the ache, the pulse, the breathless almost of something too big to name.

It felt like love. It had to be love. Didn’t it?

Because you don’t imagine a man looking at you like you’re stardust and storm. You don’t make up how words can feel like fingertips on your skin, how a voice can make your knees forget how to hold you.

That kind of burn? It leaves marks. Even if we pretend it doesn’t.

And maybe— just maybe— one day he’ll hear something, or read something that sounds like me. And I’ll brush against the edges of his mind like a ghost that refuses to be forgotten.

And he’ll hurt. And I’ll see it. Even if just for a second. A flicker. A fracture in the mask. Proof that it was real. Proof that I wasn’t the only one set on fire.

Dear you, whose name I softly keep,

Inside the quiet hours of sleep—

I hope you feel the pull, the thread,

Of all the things I’ve left unsaid.

I see your face in passing light,

In every calm and restless night.

It’s foolish, maybe—much too soon,

But still I think of you as moon.

You rise in me, a gentle tide,

No place to run, no place to hide.

My words grow soft when you are near,

Like whispered things I barely hear.

I wonder if you ever feel

The way the world begins to reel—

When eyes lock once, then glance away,

And leave their meaning there to stay.

You don’t belong to me—not yet.

But still, I dream. I still forget

That hearts don’t beat on cue or line,

They move like water, fierce and fine.

So here’s this letter, ink and air,

With rhymed confessions stripped and bare.

If you should smile, if you just knew—

Then maybe I’d belong to you.

But for tonight, I’ll just pretend—

And fold this up.

releasing sunbeams of energy feeling daffodils opening cups of gold spilling over the wealth of spring a desire

a metamorphosis with a kiss that awakens petals a sky of sapphire blue

the treasure chest unlocks wafting the essence of you butterfly memories tremble as words flit freely unforgotten

I took everything. Selfish in my desire, I screamed from the top of my lungs and you stood before me, bewildered and in disbelief. To absorb you was to consume you. To consume you, was to extinguish you.

Is this ever aching need

To chase after each step

I lose every moment

decided sunflower squirrel in love 

with charitable bright blue latex glove used faith twice

use faith as social dementia

in the crowd where are we attrition 

leave neptune if you leave singalongs your lorgnette

apoetic if i bring up a need

impersonal night touch me like your obscure page stroke

like your life smoke and mirror mildew

slow sun no one wants want night eyelashes you won't share

anything with my git sleep rouse

clock we gasp in too-muchness

truly who peeps at intestines of your clarinet apostate artform

daylight infernal saving i infer

or human heads pinned in tender sepia

ache to uncloak other navajo