a warped harlequin

averted gaze 
she likes it in the dark
when only touch matters
perfect place
for hiding anguish -
tears hidden,
eyes squeezed shut
against doppleganger limbs,
so much like the ones in dreams
but not quite right
like a mannequin’s -
a harlequin has taken hold
bending erroneously,
warped jester singing for release
while a lady tosses her flag
on a quiet path 
hoping to retrieve it herself
when blessed dark returns -
letting her lips circle words and gasps unheard 

I feel like a splinter
waiting to be plucked
from a gilded afternoon

a library

between tempests
an eerie calm
he would sit
in my room
surrounded by books
and my scent
sometimes he’d stare out the window
sometimes he’d rifle through pages
unseeing text but gleaning meaning

we’d been small and simple
drawn to a large drafty house
he had many choices for his library
but chose my room
a girl’s room
that he’d enter like a shrine

when the door opened
I’d hold my breath
to see if he’d come to me
or go to his shelves
it was always in the pristine quiet
my heart beat abnormally fast
while I sat as small and still as could be
blending with his stacks in peace
bookmarked for use later

"thistle and rust"

"thistle and rust"

clever guide

his sleek dark feathers
lead tears
to float on a wind
remnants of another season
meant to be left behind

sweet, my heart
ghosts are not meant for daylight
or for the living to cling to

clever guide
pulls and twists
until eyes look forward
instead of behind

with no thought
to time or space
follow light
a new landscape beckons

I love my fences
how they meet the open sky
holding little back

I love my fences
how they meet the open sky
holding little back

before I go

I wonder
if snow will still taste like magic
and if I will find refuge
under blankets
(alone) this winter

"into fog"

"into fog"

stoplight codes

against peeling paint
heavy locks
draped against the wall
spidery shadows stretched

oh hold me

moments between
cocktail chatter
stoplight codes

town is abustle
minds are blank
walking without direction
stopping at random intervals
contact points

borrowing skin
not quite alone

all awkward verbal elbows
tonight I’m
not meant for proper society
still I
crave scent and touch of strangers
to feel I’m
alive even if it hurts

what I’m wishing most
at this moment
is for our barely spoken

a space for us
lean in, whisper, commune

I have thoughts
that don’t require
full explanation

"left by the side of the road"

"left by the side of the road"