i am the one who waits

there is a reflection of yesterday in tomorrow and two days from now it will be cold enough to remember the hush of wool’s embrace

how much does it cost to collect love affairs and can they be traded up like baseball cards

there is something to be said for a late night peanut butter sandwich on a sunday, alone, allowing the drip of peanuts to coast down chin without napkin swipe and don’t things taste better without the interruption of another


human hunches over staircase, bends body to digest lunch while stranger in white truck whistles as though human is beautiful (as though this human wants this kind of attention)…not everyone is in need of a catcall

be alive in the moments that shatter against the easier ones

speak up to the illusions of breath control to make sure that what you are getting is what you want

you can tailor your oxygen intake to include more protein or metaphors

did you hear the one about the redhead who shaved all her hair off, hoping there would be a rainbow hidden beneath the knots

all that was found: two dents and a teardrop for what was missing