Do you remember the salt air of that February? How

every pine folded inward with rot and

the robins sang of the spring to come?

Over the kitchen sink, silhouetted

buzzing in dim, yellow light

The soft curve of your elbows and the red spots along

the back of your thighs

there's so much i'm not supposed to tell you

i've gathered angels, i've begun consorting with greater beings

gold red green autumn tipped leaves and

spots of mold along my heart

Yellow lamplight flickers

The drone of cicadas, the press of April heat

bugs swarm a black cloud around the cake

but i’ve only just made it this morning.

summer unwinds, all golden arms and these purple flowers will soon lie dead on the earth’s floor. there is a great red cyst forming on my hand

for my childhood dog & others i’ve loved

june . july . august .

Not really, though.

sea-spray and several tightly woven salt-laden oceans / the wicked sun rising in my dusk setting in your dawn

displeased with my tenderness and upset with the mess from my heart that lies quivering on the plate in a pool of yellow ooze

lover

the curtains are drawn but the window is still ajar

lets the moonlight (milk-white) drip in

i. the invitation

An invitation to a dinner party

Eggshell paper, finely cut

There is nothing I am less sure of

than if I am a girl

I am shouldering a pervert