[When the sienna sun
bids its love to the quarter moon...

Paper butterflies hang from a thread
they dare me to abandon my teary bed...

The bells below echo
and I discard their warning...

i
see it...

-
my qualms...

You say I'll get over it.
That everyone has to experience it somehow...

The world outside is inaccessible to her-
index cards plastered onto skin with...

You'll do anything to be satisfied,
even if that means dressing me up as if...

I was not kicked out, flipped off, forced to shout
because of another lover...

May I fall into you?
Tumble past greetings...

-
I will study your features...

*
How can I hold wintertime as you...