Half-full,
half-empty...

Would you love me for the hedgehog-bun I make
out of my hair on Sunday mornings...

My voice isn't quite the way I want it to be:
soft, like a Scotch mist, but also pounding...

With my nose pressed against glass, I'm kissing
turtle heads, neck exposed to fluorescence, almost...

Go. Shut the door.
Cover your ears and sleep...

She was peeling shrimps
on new year's eve, whilst...

"The moon is a nice rock", you say,
as I chuckle at the most unromantic...

We are standing stiff on the first floor
like freshly jarred pickles...

Beneath an archipelago of clouds, I find myself
thumb wrestling with words, placing dreams...

She can't be fixed, stares at the mirror
with vacant eyes and pills at the bottom...

The weatherman said, today's going to be
one-eighty degrees and sunny...

Miss Mossy always wanted
to mow the mess beneath...