I have tasted
the nectar of love
that spills out of wildflower stems
and creeps out of caves into
light

It sleeps in every vein
I can track on my arm

It is sweet
like aging wine

Warm
like summer sunrise

Loose
like my father's chuckle
like the crescent
always dangling
on my mother's lips

But for the life of me
I can never hold it
long enough
to remember what it feels like

He was a spider who lured me into his web. He did not eat me nor try to harm me, he had no intention at all but to leave me there stranded and confused.

the covers wore smooth
like the sound of your name
and the binding cracks
open as our aging skin, dry
as the ink kept
on the pages within

"Which side of the bed is yours?"
You asked.
And I panicked.

I don't believe I have ever been asked.
Not for any particular
embarrassing quirk.
Not much space do I use.
It must be my fear of the bed itself.
To rest my head.
To be touched.
To close my eyes,
and simply
breathe

So you ask which side of the bed is mine and I tell you to take the bed.
I'll take the couch.

I'll remember you in new ways
like the creatures of the night
remember daylight
the way old oak branches
reach for the sky
growing a home within themselves
growing from nothing at all
in pending loneliness
many moons ago
a nocturnal acquaintance
formed his own memory
a mere shadow in disguise
the ghost of
tomorrow's sun

Infinity tattooed on her hand
Flinching using a looking glass,
It’s smothered thoroughly
By the tides of war
She turns black and gets offended
For racist elements persist,
Her image is burned by a nemesis
Making a mockery of herself,
Her fingernails clip off
But it still rests in her desires
Slitting the plank on racism,
She shells out all her insults
And burns it like crumpled paper
Sitting in her brain- a meme,
It grins at her, dead feelings underneath.

# PREVENT RACISM # BLACK LIVES MATTER.

Here the coldness of space enters our bones
-the night open to the far distant flung Universe.
How fragile and puny our bodies and minds grasp
-on the distances that reach down across the vastness.
Tipped away from the Sun here in the north
-our days few hours of light swallowed by the dark.
We shiver huddled around our hearths meagre warmth
-deep into the ancient blackness cold as centuries old dead stars.