False prophets, you dig our graves with sinister divinations,
Bestow unrepentant indignation, and neglect to hide your shallowness.
Cast condescending shadows from high upon your sanctimonious mount, but
We wear our pride; our faith and love, our shrouds, and we will not be buried in the night.
Oh, I say woe unto them that call evil good and substitute darkness for light.
Oh, weary we may be, but forsaken we are not. Tread lightly when with lust and greed you choose to cast your lots.

Fingers trace

the crescent moon coffee stain
on the otherwise white napkin.

Nothing left
between us now
but donut crumbs.

Sticky rivers run down my hand.

Under the summer sun,
Sweet chocolate swirl melts on my tongue.

As the song fades in the distance,
Meet me behind the shed.
I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

hazy morning beams,
refractions through lapping waves
brighten the blue depths

It wraps around
The porch and barricades me
Safely away from the danger of nature
Closing in to take back its own, the space
We took to make our home.
Buzzing mosquitos circle and vines entwine
The posts that hold the screen between the night and me.