My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
women are born twice.
The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.