There is a kingdom,
out past the conscious bounds,
where the wild ones live.
Those who are more free
than our own bodies
would ever let us be.
But if one’s soul
is in touch enough
with the truth
of the universe,
they will be welcome.

sometimes, in highly inappropriate moments,
like when i am at church or driving or watching a movie with my sisters,
your hands ghost over me and my blood turns to fire again.
i can feel the little circles rubbed on my arm with a surprising tenderness,
i can feel legs twisted up with mine,
i can feel soft lips against my neck and a voracious appetite at my jawline.
goosebumps spread up my body as my toes curl and my face flushes,
and i remember all too well.

The first time you saw her,
she had drifted into your apartment
on the tail end of a gust of winter wind.
She was just tagging along as a friend of a friend.
Her starry eyes and half smile
were what got to you,
and they were enough to keep you around.
You caught a glimpse of her
reckless nightmare
almost immediately.
She was stuck in the middle of a
downward spiral,
and she took you along for the ride.
You couldn’t seem to find a reason for it.
She was just sad.
Her body was made up of
howling heart attacks
and incandescent suicide notes.
She was bad dreams,
a fractured spine,
lips hemorrhaging secrets,
and ******* shoved to the back of a throat.
She was laughter at four in the morning
and daisies in a hurricane
with dark hair and darker eyes,
all wrapped up tight in a skeletal frame.
She was your bulletin board of best kept secrets
that you covered with love notes.
You were always trying
to glue her broken pieces back together,
but her edges sliced your skin to shreds.
She did not want to be saved.