and then, you –
picturesque, plaited hair unfurled into loose...

the watchfire extinguishes with the
stirring of the salted-winds, sea foam...

is it the madness of the
artist who is fueled by...

The cruelest is yet to come—you’re incapable...
is that too bold of me to claim...

i must confess,
a part of the heart lives in the ear...

i first saw you, trapped in the bosom of a poem
written in sanskrit – archaic in the sense, an...

forsaken –
the light has abandoned us all...

and the years come cascading down;
i’ll be the first to admit that i dream way too...

i sing of you with a hushed breath,
careful to not let the words to your...

The nights are starting to stretch into early
evenings – where there once was a boundless...

In a language of lament and mourning—poetry...
verses like ’stranded among the living/called...

… regarded nostalgia as ambrosia,
and i remember this clearly...