of light, of love—twined together by the...
of time, there is little to be said, little to be...

Junk email reads...

you trample me with your soft fingers;
clay in your palms – i am clay in your hands...

and to which sin do I have to blame,
for being forced into tendering...

MARRED
by your hands alone. I offer my neck willingly...

you are like the stirring waters of the sea,
salt-wind licks your hair and tousles it in...

and what else perches upon this body, but the hot...
regret, as if sorrow opened its mouth, turning on...

honeyed as your words were,
it was your heart that did me in...

what should be said of the sorceress that
ignited a fire from where no kindling...

immured to a dreamland where you run
rampant; let me confess one thing...

april, with bloodied fists, heaving breath finds
respite where your clavicle meets your sternum...

In the sweetest sway; in the blurry line between
the dreamscape and the disembodied reality...