These weeks are often forgettable.
The wind howls in the distance...

"It's hard to speak my thoughts."
"But you're a writer", he said...

Tempting lips,
resist desires...

She used it tonight, my new name,
pulling me aside and brightly exclaiming...

They were there to rescue me,
and you may ask, what from...

It was a mad flurry
of departures...

Hands smaller than before
with see-through creases...

And it's not that I don't feel safe with myself,
or with this environment even...

She tumbles across the breezeless lake,
awaiting diamonds from his trip to the sky...

.
How does one measure the distance to moon's...

i don't know how she does it; after
waking up before dawn for two days...

I'm leaving my footprints behind,
for I won't be walking along your side...