I haven’t been dreaming anymore.
When I was younger, I heard this voice. On the cusp between sleeping and wakefulness, I heard this whispering in the darkness.
Making no words, yet I understood.
Somewhere deep in my chest, I knew.

But as I’ve aged, I don’t hear it anymore.
My efforts to remake this feeling, this eerie unsettling comfort.
Like turning memory to stone.
You’ll never forget, but it will never be the same again.
A language I’ve forgotten.
Only the impression of it remains.
The ache of it with me. Always.

my lover i wrap in lace;
in pink ribbons and skin milky sweet,
splayed across our pillows,
she makes a pretty picture

when we ache together,
her hair veils us in sunlight; soft, diffuse
we share a breath; a prayer,
entangled like some strange, eight-limbed creature.

im in love with the way you write
you make me want to believe in things
i had long taught myself to forget

today, i woke up and i was happy
for the first time in a long time
a sunday morning, marmalade mellow
there were goldfish drifting - fat and amber
blushing leaves in the fall
oh, the joy of movement
of floating, breathing, existing
entangled, cocooned
in its gentle swell and fall

and i was simply happy

my world is coloured in shades of apathy
i want to sleep

theres too much to do
but i'm just so
tired