Audrey Hepburn dancing with director Billy Wilder on the set of Sabrina by Mark Shaw, 1953
my life is the gap between yesterday and tomorrow.
the space between four walls of bookshelves and posters
and the walls are cemented in the road.
wheels rub against the gravel
leaving trails of smoke and exhaust in the air.
the carpenters forgot to build a roof.
thick veils of smog fly up my nose
and flood my lungs
with a death sentence.
the road is slick with rain and my skin smells like honeydew and apple blossoms.
the way you cradle a novel in your hands
is something i’ve grown to love fervently.
sunday morning 11:03 a.m.
me, admiring the world spilling from my pen
onto warm sheets of cloth.
you, turning an old yellowing page,
crisp and cracking like autumn’s dry leaves.
intrigued i am by the ability you possess
to snap dead trees alive
by absorbing the printed ink
like a hungry wolf.
Tongues can be like knives.
Ripping flesh apart like bread.
The last time he planted a kiss
on my collarbone,
the universe bled into his mouth.
a beauty in the sad
When he asked me, “Why poetry?”
I replied with a smear of blood
across my thighs and forearms.
"Sadistic," he scoffed. "That’s
what you are.”
I am always looking
for knives sharp enough to rip
through my flesh
and expose the
v u l n e r a b i l i t y
imprisoned inside of me.
What he does not understand
is that I still find hope and
beauty in the darkness,
even if the lights