This is the beginning,
an apocalyptic beauty engulfs all roads
but the silver lane of moonlight I trace
down my own palm in the gathering dark.
My future grows from me,
every path another limb of a rose bush,
each fantasy at the end of every
The roses start to blacken
like fruit fallen to my feet, leaving me
with this single
line of thought.
This is a temptress of some kind,
she pours her poisoned visions
like seawater, rushing to the gutters
sweeps my shadow from the floorboards.
Her name is the same as mine.
She lets herself into my head,
consumes me from inside-out,
knows her way around my bones
just by feeling.
I’ve surrendered to.
She takes me by the hand,
window-shopping new lives at the pier,
and in every inhabited house I pass
I see each version of my heart
hanging from the garden bushes.
I can’t leave her alone,
her sun is so lovely curling down the cliffs
of my bruising spine, the sand, a collective
conscious, holds me better than every
And tomorrow I’ll be in Paris
but tonight I’m not thinking of you.
I’m sleeping on the beach at noon.
I’m growing a new face to wear,
new thorns to wrap myself in,
a new city to dig into.