Wordle #197

Wordle 197

My lips stumble
under a blood orange sky.
My bruised and blessed breath
breaks apart in repetition.
You plow me like a field,
patient until bursting.
I swallow your seed,
your vox populi,
your furnace full of stars.

I am a beautiful way to drown.
The ocean in you
feeds the ocean in me.
I will always find a place for you,
a place where everything
is taken whole
and nothing is rejected.

I watch your lips sulking
beneath a blameless horizon
our silhouettes eerie in the half-light,
our silhouettes throbbing hot
like a meteor shower.

my writing is still off

Mad with Love

We are closer than skin.
I lie in bed and let you
sink into me by the breath.
Everything I feel belongs to us.
I worship myself to worship you.
We are a sky’s worth of stars.
We are fated, sacred, infinite.
Tell me you’re mad with love.

Face down I bite
into my pillow
as if it were
a forbidden fruit,
as if I could find
an answer
in each strangled repetition
of your name.
I am mad with love.

We are deeper than blood.
I gather your heart around me
as if it were made of pure air.
Hips writhing
I claw at the sheets
suffocating beneath
impressions of you.
There is nothing
lonely about your ache,
your weight, your soul
pressing against
my existential boundaries.
Tell me you’re mad with love.

We are more obdurate than bone.
Knuckle-deep inside myself
I am climaxing
to the conjured image
of your made-for-sin mouth.
I lick my fingers clean
and imagine
that it is your tongue
translating the taste.
I grind myself
senseless against
the mattress.
It feels too much.
You feel too much.
I am mad with love.

Between Notes

Slivered and incandescent
our eyes redefine
each other in darkness.
A fragile, hungry darkness
that quickens the pulse.
Your posture speaks
of predation and surrender.

You drag me forward
and I have never possessed
my body more completely
then I do now suspended
in the tether of your arms.

The weight of your smile
in descent is sufficient
to keep me in place.
I have forgotten
how to breathe
between the notes.

My words have lost their shape
and I think as I feed them to you
that more syllables would
only confuse the sentiment.
The heart knows what it knows.

I am cacophonous, drowning,
at the insistence
of a shared pulse.
I am drowning
with our lips sealed together
and our tongues touching.
I am gathering your clothes
in my fingers in the hopes
of burying myself face down
in the warmth of your skin.


I am dissolving like winter

beneath your fingertips.

The weight of your body

settles against my borders

and I am making room

inside of myself for you.

You erect a monument

between my thighs,

a monument held together

entirely by the friction of poetry.

You might as well love me.


You are planting flowers

on my skin with your mouth.

You are burying yourself

in me as if I were a garden

and everything about you

feels like spring.

In the wake of countless deaths

I am made to feel permeable again.

You might as well love me.


We stick together like

summer and the heat

of your body

is making me malleable.

I am folding and refolding

underneath you like a kept promise.

I feel you on the underside of my scars,

overflowing with thunder

and the ghosts in mind

are finally quiet.

You might as well love me.


I am coming apart in your arms

and the lines that separate us

have all been drawn in water.

I can’t distinguish myself.

I keep finding myself in you.

The gravity of your soul

is the only thing 

holding me together.

You might as well love me.


You move like autumn

and I am ricocheting

against you like a scream.

The currents between us

are tearing me apart.

The currents between us

are feeding our hunger.

I won’t let you leave now that

you’re wrapped so tightly.

You might as well love me.