the moon knows more than us 

its hard to love her. 

it’s hard to love the person your mother sees you to be. 

it’s fun to love you. 

pretty to love someone like the moon does. 

there are no words on my mind nor my tongue, yet i speak to you, no clearer than two minutes younger.

if we stay beneath these sheets, the day will fade

and your wondrous lips will move u...

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something could have been done last year, now all is morally blear. go about with your day, just stay.

stay in that house with those people you can’t remember, merely a year ago. 

i’m fine, sunshine, and i will tell you forever

it’s not me, it’s the world. once we change, she goes forth.

the universe moves without us now.

she will not halt, not tonight, nor wednesday. for ...

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perhaps it is the way you smell when i lay my head on your steady chest.

 the people we were last night will watch us through our bedroom window. we’re not the same, and that’s neutral. 

perhaps it was cinnamon, less than we ever thought. 

    the butterflies in my stomach turned to moths ages ago. 

            by all of the gods and goddesses, it was cinnamon.

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it’s mostly sadness overall 

though every time i turn that corner, i think of her smile.

                        i only have words for her 

though i cannot speak them so she will hear, i wish i would have said them. 

                                i love you. 

and the dirt couldn’t say it back, so silence is my gift from her. silence, and the way i still th...

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Numb. 

Dry and numb. 

Grief cannot be duplicated, though it can be felt, again and again. 

We’ll just go to sleep and never cry again. so it shall be dreamed, not wept. 

It will fade, but right now, we sleep. 

Numb and dry. 

Numb.

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