On my most private of places, I wear your brief despondent intervals of sobriety.
Category: Poetry
Reverie
The lovers nestled in their cold cavernous caves sicken at the coming sun.
The Girl Who Walks Behind(The Girl From Ipanema)
She existed in the creases of his hands; like tiny shards of glass She filled the space.
If You Want
I'm in the kitchen painting peaches with juices dripping down my chin.
Song of Grief
This business of grief
People Who Write
The boy who hides won't find comfort in the silence of his head.
Doe
Doe, do something only I could understand, walk in the middle of the road with your eyes closed.
Don’t Get Lost
I turn to respond only to be greeted by the soft caressing scent of a pine fire