I keep biting off
more than I can chew.

Apple juice dripped
between the seams
of my fingers.

Cold chills
ran down my spine
and I wanted to hang
onto something,
but nothing was within reach.

My memories
got the best of me,
but don’t these photos
make it look great?

Sparkly blue waters,
freckles on your face.

I hope at the time
I thought it was just the same.
I lost track of the
coffee trips,
lips kissed
and debts paid.

We made safe spots
out of living rooms
and bottles of wine
something to wash down
our problems with.

Blankets like bowls,
would always be shared;
I never thought twice
about how much you cared.

More like family or lovers
than friends-
it would seem.

While we make messes
of the night,
the time stamps on
our messages became
less relevant
and all that would be resolved
was what bodies would be tangled at dawn,
and then held up in the
morning light
and felt.

Il a dit, "au debut t'etais belle"
- C'est bon de te revoir, répondis-je.

reprends moi. Je veux parler français à nouveau Je veux boire du vin et danser toute la nuit avec toi. Je ne pense pas que je t'ai jamais vraiment laissé partir. Vous avez toujours été avec moi.

i don’t want to hold you if you won’t hold back
don’t want to run my fingers across the skin of your back and
don’t want to whisper that i love you in your ear
(but i do love you)
because I’ve run the love out of you
(and now i can’t real it back in)

Don't you think peaches are made of these?

Thighs slicked with coconut oil
on a hot summer day.

Think of us breathing in the southern heat-
think of us singing with no defeat.

But we can't miss this anymore,
our sleepy eyes will now reside
behind screen lights and subject lines,
traffic lights constantly blinking yellow
and your 3 favorite songs on repeat,
I look down as I walk away
so I won't have to say the words
"goodbye"

I hate the overhead lights that
drain the deepen shadows of our
Sunday's from the bed-
it holds no purpose for the artist
in her head, an unbelievable feat
of emotions made logical with out any angle.

We find ourselves like a bed
stripped of its sheets-
nothing left to be hidden.

All the stains hang on threads
of all things that can't be washed clean,
no rinse and repeat
like your mother's crisp cotton,
once solid white sheets.

where my mind should be,

animals locked up in cages
waiting to be let out so they too
can play.