Early Morning
Sorry, I’m still sleeping,dreamingof foothills like focaccia,how we fall into their valleys,intimidated by immensity.Creamsicle sky melts
History of Your Name
Before you were born,before you were more than thought,before you were someday–your mom and I loungedin
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Dear Rose
I think of her every Sunday,whispering prayers in Italian.She could silence ambulance sirenswith struffoli on Christmas.She
Wake Window
On nights I can’t sleep after your 3AM feeding,I think about the worldyou were born into.Outside,
Leaving
For the third time in her life, Alannah felt herself leaving. She swallowed hard, nausea threatening
Coital hypnosis
spine a live wire in hot waterwhen your mouth covers my cuntoh godglistening meteoritestaste me through
The Burger Stand
“Good Morning, Mr. Sampson.” “What?” “I said good morning to you.” “Oh. Yeah.” He rolled over