alexandra-carlyleWhisper

American
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3AMThese are the moments when I marvel / at the way darkness reinvents itself / in shadows that move with moonlight
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cacophonyI am always caught / on the ragged / edges of your breath. There are too many
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thievesAutumn arrived clothed in whiskey and wind / that dressed the ground in leaves it lifted / from the old oak trees. In the crisp air
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nightfallWhen all we had to show from / several sunlit days / was skin burned red from heat
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the last time I saw youWhen you came to me / I was too tangled / in the moment
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units of measureYou should never use a ruler - it is not the length / of your scars that matters, but the depth. Volume / matters, too, but beakers are never big enough -
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saudadeThere are things that I want / that you can no longer offer. *Time*, / mostly. You tendered it once, slipped
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the dashWhat is given is never / fully yours but still you keep / returning with palms
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the elephant in the roomThe world looks different / when you always keep your head down - / I've studied all the oddities of my feet,
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thursdayThe rocking feels familiar / because we have been here / before, swaying on the crescent
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