Imagined Matins.

Barely rested, but with fevered beats beneath my skin, I drew her supposed aroma in and out and in again and all around this sleeping creature my world contracted and expanded; and I wondered of her dreaming.   To pass the time I figured cracks, pretended craters, dead seas, frontiered charts across her ceiling. On … Continue reading Imagined Matins.

her ghost.

i still find her on the sill in the dying birthday flowers - near to faded, pretty in the thirsty vase.   her stray hair in the bath, her scrawl on some scrap paper - her receipt, screwed in denim pocket and breathe her for a moment, forever, her surprising sillage   as I pass the chair she … Continue reading her ghost.