 |
It began
when I
smashed
your
fine
white
china
against
the wall
and
stormed
out of
your
beachside
mansion,
shreddi..
|
 |
Remember
last June, when we took our trip to Florence?
It
was sunny then, and warm enough to melt the blues.
On
our first day we held han..
|
 |
Our
eyes
they
met
they
met
with
a fasssst
splaSH!
in
the style
of
rain Kissing
pavement.
Lovers
they
..
|
 |
What
is poetry, reader?
My
loyal companion,
dear,
lost, and damaged,
what
is it? Is this it?
Or
is this too informal?
What
if I w..
|
 |
On
this particular winter evening
as
I rest in the backseat of a car
cruising
down the highway, I gawk
at
the distant sunset as if captur..
|
 |
When
I wake, my reds are mirrored around
the
room. They sway against each other on
white
washed walls, like kaleidoscope pieces
of
the he..
|
 |
[I:
Break]
To
smash, split, or divide
into
parts violently;
a
suddenly echoed crackle
in
the chest cavity that
fades
as the s..
|
 |
I
spend most of my days
dissolving
my heart in a liquid
pool
of bitter memories
as
I gaze at the horizon line
from
my third story bed..
|
 |
I
could write novels about the two of us
sleeping
in different beds, different cities,
under
the same moonlit sky, unable to shake
the
ot..
|
 |
You
are not my muse,
you
are my opulence.
We
imbibe Hennessy
and
Château Pétrus
on
a corner couch
in
L&rsquo..
|
|
|
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