from room to room we carried each other and our ordinary gestures throughout the years, passing by the often overlooked the sometimes unremembered god-like things everything in life begins with noticing so here: i give you back the old house placed oil jars beside the...
what sadness to finally swim towards asphalt because that’s how blind waves become approaching the steel breasts of summer’s end after i know what pleasure is to be suspended weightless in your arms smiling naked as a delicate blue southern night how could i ever love...
it’s a moonhold. the waning is always held by the waxing moonhold Poetry is art. It is the art of using imagery to inspire a universe of feelings within, which draw a response from our psyche. Poetry dares us to think and to question – going inside of ourselves...
“I am the secret clear stream running beneath the surface of the earth and you are my constant dream, love of my soul running with me beneath the surface of the earth. We are Eros and Psyche.” Recently, I was writing a poem prompt on the word...
i like you like oltremarino a special shade of blue found only overseas like Positano like salt water wearing skin bare thighs and shy freckles on my arms like a whole slow day in bed with silk curtains snaking winds holding years of miles like a voice that crosses...
