> there are the old tropes the reaper swinging his grim scowl a distant, longing victim chained to posts and deep mercy vultures contemplating victimhood…

>The woman is above me and her body chantsColloid mane washes across my faceHoney drips, undresses, digs her heels into my tongueMy fingers buried in her unexpected…

>on eight purple post-it notesi sketch the sure sound of my heelstriking the rug / yr scampering heartbeat escapes and climbs beside my eye, into…

>sour, profitless thingscat hair, drifting clumps of dogwhen my lover wakes soft and unwashed she tosses my cover to the floor she partitions, in other words. brushes…

>yr wide eyes would know beyond this here doorframeif yr head was yr only; yesterday the sky is clear and blueeach cloud throws blocks; blocking,…

>At the top of the stairAs sure as the outreached handIs collared and wetCold to the freckle on his wristHe’s sure Laughter is half down…

>i know or do not know youbeside the heft of your legs& knit-black stockings; i do notneed nor save need in the glut,the choking overabundance(:…

>I can only think about the coldnessOf the green water, how the initialShock makes the skin alive with purposeHow I demand to be alive.

>

> I Sat up on the plush, pillowed chair Crossed milky legs, flattened hair,             and feels it bright to giggle and             arch her…