your mouth is hot on mine when I taste you, I sip spring rain and sparkling tear drops your hands on me, my nails on you and the pressure boils over what separates us now but hurricane season? I pack food away in case we both survive. April 25, 2016

A poem from the upcoming collection, Chaotic Good.

You said it as if it was fact Of course, it had to be true, you had spoken it into existence Unable to disagree, I laid in that ever present silence Reaching for words, fumbling for nouns or verbs or adjectives Ever wrapped in the inability to articulate exactly what I thought Memories of your […]