Poetry comes rolling out of my pursed lips like smoke curling under the door. Somebody’s going to get burnt soon.


“You don’t care, you don’t care!” she shouts into his ears. Pain is a drug that unites them. Right now, they’re too broke for anything else.

Old Mattress

She said your love is an old mattress. It’s comfortably molded to me. But it’s too heavy to carry. So she took her pillow and walked away.

Pretty Notions

Pretty notions, like faint moisture on her hands in the sunlight, glistened, refracted and vanished into thin air.

The First Rain

  The memory of him clings to the tips of her hair, like the first rain that they got caught in, inadvertently.  


The first was a warrior; he broke my heart to pieces The second an artist; he sculpted them into beauty with knife cuts The third was a trader; he bought passion for sympathy The fourth was a realtor; he cleaned up and then sold out And finally, I was left with an empty, newly refurbished ... Read More


Intimacy in brief, blinding flashes, like light reflecting off a knife’s edge, between our cold, hard selves.


Memories. His, thunder through her mind just like his footsteps when she was asleep. Hers, splash onto his eyes, making them water.

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