I scratch the surfaces of things. Tabletops, windows, skin. I scrape away with clinical precision for anything like absolution. My hand is coaxed to go deeper. I can almost feel the hum of frantic hope underneath. Cicatrice after wound, the tissue hardens with the heart. And the doldrums unfold again…

You must be paradise. Must be moonlight trapped in water, must be the center of a world swathed in spring. The drowned man dreams of an empty sky, of the morning swelling in the east and I dream of you becoming honey and blood lining my teeth, the last wound I silence forever. It is not divine, this affection, nor steeped in a vat of light. It is fragments of an inner scream sprouting wings to the night.

I am listening to the milky way, gnawing on the softest frog skin. He shakes off the glow and slips under the water, a coin carefully dropped. I can hear his little legs kicking at the assembled stars on the surface, creating minute splashes until they flutter away in ripples, shimmering with glee…

The light arrived to us sharing one dream. Of you, and me — reeling, ill-met by the stars. The vision bends under my hand and all that I turned you into spills wildly to the floor. But you just laugh and swim in the pool of light. …

A loose sonnet. — ㅤ Did you think I could ever leave you lost? ㅤㅤFor I did not abandon you lightly To the wilderness of despair’s domain. ㅤㅤAnd you were the heat of my creeping flesh. My red-fire love with your twisted, burning ㅤㅤSmile, your charcoaled teeth, I climb over hills, Of hunger, I lay men bare to find you. ㅤㅤOnce within our second awakening We will kick the embers alight, awake! ㅤㅤMy love, we will watch the inferno lick The land with smoking tongue and scorch the sky ㅤㅤWith blazing head. We shall die, yes, in love

A poem about May in my country. — May kicks the door open and the rain comes marching in with a thousand feet. Suddenly whole towns are covered in her wake. Clouds grow heavy— hanging low, stretching their bodies into the horizon and the landscape drinks, saying goodbye to the uninterrupted heat of Sun, yielding, itself to May’s…

A poem about falling apart — I cannot make you stay, so this is me pinning the word ‘longing’ clumsily to my chest — Telling you it is best you leave. Love dims to dark nights. You, hidden, Clutching the tired animal of your heart, Watching me come home With someone else’s jacket. Pain is a…

Pining is always good natured filled with aching and fluttering touches lovers suffer their feelings — terrible bouts of red days — bloom under the skin then exposed to the brunt of night the universe has assembled us halfheartedly we rise in nothingness but love comes always with a vengeance …

We eat black towers of smoke, never food. — There is no grace in the exit, he says, There is no love in a body that cannot grow. I ask for a second chance, it comes to me covered in bite marks. He laughs, sweet bells in an abandoned church, and a flood washes over me. So fucking weak…