someday, god, someday-
school will be over, but learning
just begun and I may
have a little house with a
garden for my small
hours and hands
made from my own to
hold with small
fingers cupping the
base of the holly
hawks to pick and put on
tables next to walls of
books for our own
pleasure in the morning with the
color and taste of white
peaches

I bought a stranger's love with you, Denarius.
The well's reflective surface, pocked with 
sleep,

Oh, do you sleep? Face creased with the pillow
or with sickness, obscured by light
pollution,

So strange, in the deep water. Once, lustrous,
once, the object of all reverence. A thing to
serve 

The meal in of itself. We left the lamp on,
It's true.

We've always been afraid of the dark

 

I bought a stranger's love with you, Denarius.
The well's reflective surface, pocked with 
sleep,

Oh, do you sleep? Face creased with the pillow
or with sickness, obscured by light
pollution,

So strange, in the deep water. Once, lustrous,
once, the object of all reverence. A thing to
serve 

The meal in of itself. We left the lamp on,
It's true.

We've always afraid of the dark

 

And all the waves are lapping at the seabed, soft cheek and thigh
and belly fat of sand. They take quiet sips, flush and full with
stinging roughness, flush against the coolness of the cat tongued
shore
And there they cradle me, pea-hen gently, my hairline oiled
and slicked with salt. Light as a breath, I slip between the layers,
folding like a doll, or a cut of cloth,
And so the tide unfurls me along its swells, pulling my...