Skip to content


August 14, 2012

I stumble upon remembering,

the last time —

the first time. dappled terrace, grilled and over-loved.

the middle times. airport traditions.

Cars stuffed with limbs, shoulders, your music and my longing.

Too much noise, not enough tears.

(I always come to leave you behind, didya’ notice?)

there’s a before and an after now — time is broken now

it spills into my skin — these moments, of breath


with terror.

like a bird trapped, that I swallowed by mistake.

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: