Poetry, She is stardust leaving sweet bones
in her wake. A trail of poetic destruction
conceived in verse--answering questions
with kisses. There is a hunger in her
freckled constellations, like spider webs
woven together with golden thread.
Like the wild roses she braids in her hair:
She walks backboned and head held high;
the strongest of letters on a page
left to rest in your mouth.
Bookstore Religion Lurking in the shadows of roses,
I formed my own Gods,
my own constellations
between the thorns in my teeth.
Naming them after characters
in a November's love story,
Porphyria, Dorian, and Gatsby-
I tasted earth and copper pennies.
Choking on peppermint and oils-
out of my mouth in rambles of
I recited poetic prayers to the classics.
At night, black birds rest on my eyelids.
I am drowning in their feathers.
My dreams are old movies,
( laid out in silent film. )
I asked you to lie to me,
to this supernova skin
to kiss cookie crumb freckles
along my braille throat
as I smothered you
in disheveled heartstrings.
( It did not matter your crow eyes frightened me)
Speaking to me in God's tongue
of watercolor skies
and mid-morning realities.
As we live in a wonderland
of giggling hyenas &