Category: Poetry

  • Midnight

    this joy becomesa pearl nestled between my ribsimagine the blunt edge of my ribclamping down on fingersintent on thieving this precious (my)from methe pearl becomesa sun in the arctic in junealways shining

  • Saffron & rust

    back to the saffron field where i planted the memoriesof moments that never wereall the sweet soliloquies under waxing moonstemperate souls orbiting a sun of rusted linens Can’t really provide any background or context to this, other than I wrote it after a day spent at the hospital with someone. I was decompressing from the…