At night I reproduce myself, hologram
on magazine gloss, floss my teeth...

Question marks cut in half, fingers
less likely placing periods, as we fumble with...

Our words were strong, strong enough
to imitate the click clack of heels...

What am I to you? A pretty vase
on a scentless dining table...

In all of Paris' grandeur, from Place de la...
to bakery-scented boulevards - I searched for...

His hello is just that:
a hello. No flushed cheeks...

Time's tapping
against my tea cup...

*** This is a poem that recycles bits and pieces...
All my life I’ve tried so hard to become a happy...

I was painting my nails and listening
to rock 'n' roll, something about insobriety...

There's no difference
between untamed love and hate...

It has to be me - the only anti-depressant -
grinding gratitude journals into routines...

His hello isn't just a hello.
It's the echo of his 'no...