Aperture
From solid teak, I want to write
about our love, but we never made it there. Or maybe,
we did. Maybe you felt
more, and I felt less and even
though you left, you can still feel my cheeks cherrying
when the wrong phrase ends our phone call. Maybe
you can hear the backfill where we used
to listen to cicadas on repeat and maybe my purple
afternoon is yours too. There’s no camera
with me today. It’s too personal, to sit alone, without you.
Forgery or How to Make Autumn
In-between Gods is a living thing, a waste-
land adorned. Revel in the hummingbird
rhythm pulsing through your ears. Lily soft
days will fade away into fall nights and petal
caresses will wilt and crisp like oak leaves. Hold
my gentle shadow, lift up the light grey, weigh
less than the leftover black. There’s a space between the eye
and the needle, there’s a drooping thread.