pluto
got exiled
in its demoted
shiver of space
Pitch black
Eyelash,
Clinging to your shirt,
Contrasts
The blonde
Feathering on your eyelids,
A secret
We keep,
Messily but no one knows,
How I
Feel,
Not even you.
an open book, leatherbound with a tattered cover
rests on an antique nightstand
the dim orange glow from a hurricane lamp provides
perfect light to imagine you using my body as a lectern from which to read your sacred words
you rest one hand on my shoulder
and I accept the weight of a tome
you place upon exposed dimples of Venus
my spine pressing against its spine (waiting patiently)
while you scratch notes above perfect parallel lines
to break my concentration as devoted object
and usher my return to curious creature
my hips shift,
like a soft wave summoning a lost sailor ashore
you sweep your lips with feather-light precision against my ear
your hands follow whispered words
wandering along my serpentine frame
where you will be granted safe passage to discover
untamed urge
Piled on my parents’ quilt,
It’s been a weird week
without my car
and not seeing my baby.
It’s even freakier
how time gets sneakier.
It’s now June,
but it was just Easter.
I can’t really tell the days apart either.
Some days are blurs
as most are meager.
At times it’s hard to be my own boss
and I just want to follow a leader,
but I probably wouldn’t trust them either.
oh well,
I’ll just keep waiting for tomorrow like it’s Christmas.
no real plans, just checking a few things off the endless to do list but not with too much ergency, sleeping in a little later, no rush mornings, breakfast and lunches eaten later and with each other, dinners on the grill, sitting outside like you dont have anywhere to be, iced tea in one hand and a book in the other
Sleeping with myself
Tangled in soft sheets
My curls bouncing on my cheeks
The scent of eucalyptus on my pillows
Intermingled with your scent
Embedded into my sheets
The softness of my cover
Curled gently into my hand
The softness of my skin
Brushing against my sheets
The warmth of the morning sunshine
Peeking through my window
Gently kissing my face
An easy way to start my morning
I enjoy this peace
This quiet solitude to myself
Though I can imagine you next to me
Your body breathing smoothly
Heat off your back against my breast
I enjoy this time to myself
To awake heavily
Still under the lull of sleep
A haziness through my lashes
As I become more aware
Of how my body takes up
The fullness of my bed
Arms and legs long
Seeing how I am only here in this space
No companionship in this moment
But the fullness of self in this moment
To not always have you there
To know I can have comfort
To wake up with myself
There I stood, with my light-up unicorn sneakers and minuscule Dora-themed backpack
Feeling the most grief and despair a six-year-old could ever feel as I watched
The love of my life, in my grade but one year older, jump into his mom’s 2003 Kia,
And leave me behind forever
Nalan could barely speak any English, and I couldn’t understand a word he said in his native language
All I knew was that I heard the most melodic sound ever the first time he opened his mouth
Even more breathtaking than the lady singing about Friday nights over the stereo
And I swore to hear that voice for the rest of my life
But then, the teacher brought him up to the front of the class, smiling this great, big smile as she delivered the news that permanently altered my first-grade mind
“Nalan will be leaving our class and going back to his home country, Sri Lanka”
My heart sunk down to my kitty-cat socks, Sri Lanka?
What even was this place, stealing Nalan from me, stealing my heart right out of my chest?He gave me a dizzying kiss on my forehead that day at dismissal, and I had to stupidly watch him drive away
I still remember him, cropped dark hair, bright brown eyes
I wonder if he remembers me,
Wherever he is now
The moon, her brilliant disc lending
night a bit of light, is valleyed and ridged—
those Bailey’s Beads distort even eclipses’
geometry. The sun, too, with flares
and filaments is no flawless circle, nor
its heat even-searing. In a crooked smile,
a cat’s nicked ear, a child’s misspelled word
we glimpse what is endearing. With these
foibles we walk our days’ cracked paths,
accepting even the treachery of unfinished
edges. So, when perfection visits, we
worship its transcendence, gather
in wreaths and cambric shirts, swoon
at Stonehenge’s solstice splendor.
