This is what I see tonight: you splayed out on a mattress, all the clocks set to winter. Because we both know our mutual fallibility,

If you were an IKEA, I’d like to get lost in you. The arrows on the floor are of little help; you try to be

There is a room inside me That was all window and no door, A chamber of echoing, high ceilings And light that was beautiful, but

I learned the truth at seventeen, From Leonard Cohen and Janis Ian. I learned of love and pain and joy And how to love a

thirty hours later you’re asleep and i’m sketching a portrait of something beautiful. i’ve never been an artist, i’m not doing it justice. i don’t

Echoes of the Heart, No. 6 The Echo of Your Absence The Lingering Note of Absence The simple words we reach for “I miss you,”

She bowed to him happily, handing over her honor like a cloak she would never wear again, to a stranger who stroked her hunger until

I don’t know if love is supposed to ache like this, a bruise that glows instead of fades, a hunger that doesn’t starve me— just

I told you I wasn’t easy, and you laughed. Tea in coffee shops, a free concert in the park. When we walked your setter, I

Deep — deep in the attic of my heart, I stumbled across an old love letter, honey-faded, like a memoir of Moroccan sand, a little

the soil, i heard someone say, to keep growing the garden we need to break up the soil together, to press our palms into the

On the pillow, a trace of perfume. On the sheet, a pool of desire. On their cloud, theirs alone, no getting up, no going home.

I spent hours in my room In the dark, softly whispering My heart cracking and breaking I wanted to be wanted I wanted to be

If you looked for me, you would find me crumpled, in the darkest corners of a house like my home, but with the furniture moved,