to whom it may concern. sincerely.

i would ask your forgiveness. if only i was sorry.
for disappointing you with my reply.
but destiny is the only Plan i have.
love. life. death. the rest is less certain. less specific.

i am she who only closes her eyes in surrender.
unable to tell whether it is the world or myself
giving or receiving the kiss. variations on (and
an expansion of) the main love we are taught to crave.

apart from the fossils and phantoms in these bones.
i am the heart. and the heart is a secret nihilist.
so fight it.
i am the sea, the boat and the dreams that fill my sails.
i am the voice calling you back and letting go.

i am a story. breathing. partly told through scars
decorating insides and edges. certain only of everything
undesired. but ravenous for more. so, please excuse me
as burning beneath these walls i stand. wide open.

hymn to hunger

i've had dreams(?) like that. where spatial contours merge into the (dis)harmony of every kind of potential. hands cover eyes. voices whisper "teach me". and you waver on the edge of almost knowing. be my mirror. golden bird. angels dwell in darkened rooms. sometimes. every day new to themselves. where the sky is no longer the ceiling but a pane of glass in the cathedral window. and your breath on my thigh feels like the answer. kundalini arousing. stomach and lungs full of your voice. speaking of the thing(s) that define us. me, im listening.

then the clouds break and the world shines

today the rain is so soft.
something like glorious.

and they know...prayers too, like last night's lost dream set your soul on fire. align your selves. there's no explanation for the mystery that we are a part of. where intentions are like glass and you part the sea and i part myself. the memory of skin can only imagine the way you taste. the silver-edged clouds keep saying the same thing. what is it i hold? apart from time? life, clues, patterns, answers, histories, origins. and the idea of you. the world cupped in hands with maps designed as we go. nothing more revealling than the atlas of the heart. collected stories pulled from dark and colourful corners. you resemble lightning. i am quiet thunder. the picture remains unchanged. seeing not what we're not ready to see. only on both horizons this smoke dancing against the sky.