About last night (a poetic)

Legs twined. Our fingers climbed each other through the night. Scarves undone. My locks tangled yours Little brown vines. Inhale the moment Before memory wakes us – We are supposed to be angry About something Inconsequential. We use eggshelled silence To mask the sleep in our step. Courteous and unremarkable We play at passive anger…

strawberry kiss

The memory is a strawberry Fresh on the vine With a twisting pluck- It is mine A red gem gleaming in the sun Tart freshness and sugar sweet There’s a hint of the earth in it A safe dirt kind of taste The way a garden smells after rain And the earth is in me…