juniabandaging your heart,junia in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the weeping of your soft skin
tied closed with poems.
feather girloften, i'm dreamingfeather girl in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
of my hands in your hair like
a halo of skin
awarenessat what age do youawareness in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
find horror in your own self?
erase your poems?
minimalisti spend a momentminimalist in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
licking foam from expresso
invisible pains for the visibly disappearingi am a rush of abandon,invisible pains for the visibly disappearing in Free Verse More Like This
can you see me when i arch my back,
turn my head,
stretch my legs out
in the bluish light?
what is it like,
to see the face of a lover
in a crowd,
in a room,
soft moments and memories
holding up the ballooning smiles
like nitrous oxide?
what is it like,
when flames crown in your chest,
when your whole face lights up
in the dark of his eyes,
when you go to dinner?
i sit behind you,
in economics, in biology,
pressing my fingertips against
the freezing windows,
leaving evanescent prints.
total financial collapse,
homeostasis, molecular composition,
and you are smiling at him,
the windows are leering at me,
the snow outside falls in weeping, lurching sobs.
we are all holding our breath.
i curl my toes, suck in my cheeks,
stare at the rosy, raw knobs of my knuckles.
your hands connect to him like a life source. periodically touching f
pink wateri can feel you herepink water in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
as i breathe the rosy dusk
with a quiet smile
the pinkish wavelengths
of the spiraling honey
leave a trail to me.
your strength is my hope.
now, i open up my palms.
my weakness, your strength.
i capture my flaws
like so many soft lilies
between my small hands
the beauty of life
is that it is not well known
but we all have it.
portraiture of humanitythe sound of the shutter echos in the small room.portraiture of humanity in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"there's nothing like a smile," he says, "to show others that you're happy on your own."
he sits with his legs crossed at the ankle, his long pants the color of a summer midnight sky, his suit jacket matching, his hair the same, all a dense, buttery black, the word "noir" in french with the scent of expresso, the caress of the tongue, the shimmer of sexuality beneath the thick opacity.
his skin is pale, with obvious veins showing blue-grey in his hands. the smoke of his cigarette is desperate, coming off of him in clouds.
"you'd think it's hard to be an asshole," he says sweetly. he flicks ash from the end of his cigarette.
"but it's not."
i adjust the lighting. he adjusts his position in the armchair. we square off, looking each other in the eyes, keeping a wary respect tucked in the corners of our mouths. along with that, in the soft crinkle of that mouth, he has a laugh, a curse word, a fuck-off. in
color theory12:03 a.m.color theory in Letters More Like This
i can't sleep, breathe, or eat.
this is called amnesia, or a cleverly placed metaphor. my mind is the memory palace of a cannibal; the scent of freesia and nile lilies wash down the crystal staircases along with visions i pull out of desk drawers of small girls pinching bloodied noses.
in this memory palace, i can lift the toilet and find perfumed, flower-pressed paper towels or the photos from a wedding. the bookcases hold my palahniuk novels and esthesis of a cat being skinned alive. in the underwear drawer, you'll see stockings and apparitions of vomiting.
don't worry, i'm not alone.
she slips through a window, trailing the scent of lip-balm. peppermint. her eyes, her voice-- it is something distant, there are blue fir trees and climbing ranges of gray, snow-peaked mountains in her heritage. her hands are long, blue with veins. there is a long necklace draped over her, made of peacock feathers, a shifting green-gold rainbow over where her heart should be.
"a local c
glowing skeletonsthe nostalgia comes over me in a current and i let it thieve my mind...i allow it to caress my senses and pull me into another realm where the past is infinite and everlasting, where kisses are sweeter and the drives last long into the endless nights. wind whips into our sighs and the trees breathe into us. winter is blue and summer is golden, and my memories with you are a blush inbetween. i have never truly had you, but i miss you anyhow. the floorboards creak under my toes; the vents hide our breathing from the world. trees, earth, life: we've escaped it, yet we are a part of it.glowing skeletons in Letters More Like This
this nostalgia, it is so beautiful sometimes i don't think my heart can take it.
neededit was easy at first. i was knocking on your window, dreaming of planets and cursive writing, the swirls of galaxies spelling names in brilliant light, when suddenly you peered back at me. my fist froze, knocking knuckles poised, glass gleaming beyond my reach. a shimmering surface stuck between my place and yours.needed in Short Stories More Like This
you smile at me and open up the window.
our hands meet first, quietly. fingers interlace, frowning palm lines pressing to kiss. hands are such careful creatures, mine that have been used to paint, eat, touch, write--suddenly i have let you capture that hand and stop my time. you have stopped me from living only for myself. only for a moment.
second, i prop my knee up on the windowsill and you haul me up out of the snowdrifts. snowflakes climb into my hair and dust my shoulders, hurrying to melt as i lurch into your bedroom, collapsing against you, knees aching from the sill.
we tangle in the heavy curtains and your face is lost in the bursting fabric. the bloom of your mouth