she is
the chill swept over
frail skin—

held dear to the summer,

the thrashing
of warm raindrops
and sand

known only to the bare—

warm throughout,
but the chill still
tickles her skin

while her blood simmers.

nighttime phantoms of birds swoop low through the breeze,
greeting bats with sweet melodies and mingling in the trees.
not only do their songs tingle the ears of few,
but they are gone with the moon and the mid-morning dew.

sometimes
putting on a ring
is a battle cry

and just like that
the buildings fall,
hundreds of hours put into
their walls...

so illegal was it
to meet in this place
the one we spend hundreds of hours
and effort can't find a trace

sometimes the trickle of
words to my own self
seeps into my veins
and leaves my heart beating

as the moon crests the horizon,
it lends its brightness
to the crystals of ice
dangling from the trees...

as fascinating as the world is,
i need a moment to explore another.

no stress—
i have cats to feed,

i won’t be long...