in a locked room
after we leave?
I suspect our ghosts arrive
like tourists, and
sit and feed off of
the memories of
what once was,
stories glazed with sweetness
as the world turns dark
and then light again.
of me, little by little little bites sinking into old wounds every time and I let her because just like the trees open their hands to the...
is write little books, is what I heard the husband of a friend say once. that's all she does, all day he said and she laughed and I...
Bring in your dead, she said. So I dragged my lovers out of the warm cocoons of my sheets out through my crooked legs and my sweat-soaked...
Comments