you—an almost ache, almost wound, almost lover,
almost return to self, almost summer, almost a...

like a gentle breeze warmed by the sun,
you pour over me in a steady stream, constantly...

consider the litany of beauty—
tonight, there is you, nestled in the fists of...

Happenstance—the way you turn the corner at full...
bumping into me, spilling an armful of books that...

“…and the wound was a place of shelter for...
You sincerely ask. You speak the grief I’ve been...

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

After being tended to by parents, who had more...
than love—who called out for a more benevolent...

The days are warmer now—you spill everywhere,
even the shadow is formed in your shape...

Who else would remember— their first night...
fluorescent tubes, and the lone waitress who...

Her hand atop yours, and on the inside, you are...
at daybreak no less, you could not part. You did...

I want to share the sunset with you, I don’t...
reduced to slivers of photographs and pixels...

Maybe forgetting is first, and death comes...
because we gave it meaning by connecting the...