Ars Poetica

To My Poet,   I am a cursive body running laps on your notepad telling you the story of how we first met. I am the best type of tickle — a spark that lights your spirit, warmth — like the sound of good morning. I will be bittersweet — the first bite of a … Continue reading Ars Poetica


Linger   I sleep at ease when the scent of last night stitches into my clothes. I breathe, and every past good or bad decision we enacted in moonlight perfumes the room. His fragrance envelopes me. The aroma cloaks and holds shapes: impressions left on the couch, incense coiling to the ceiling, the mint on … Continue reading Linger

Wild Beauty

I believe that Wild Beauty is harvested in our hearts. We blossom in the blink of an eye, we sprout when our fingers rush along skin, tracing the blue roots buried below the wrist. I believe blue eyes mean diving into the end of the world; green screams opportunity; brown eyes mean stability in a … Continue reading Wild Beauty