In a broken shower,
where the cold tap
doesn’t work
and water sprays faster
than it drains,
when you close your eyes
to wash your face
it feels like wading into
Hell’s ocean.
Imagine it.
You don’t know if it’s
scarier to pretend
the water is perfectly clear
or layered in murky darkness.
Do you want to see?
Soap burns your eyes
when you panic
and open them
before any decision can be
cemented,
like your feet to that
nightmare world.


**V.K.

Out there is the sight of rain in the distance.
That particular shade of grey
falls smooth as a new pen on a bleached page,
which makes the softest and loudest noise,
drawing out words. You're drawing me
away from my thesaurus, my dictionary,
and my scattered pages.
Maybe I need to concentrate on something
more than my vocabulary.
My stiff wool sweater and the kiss
of your thighs, shivering in stale air just
waiting for the chance to wake up to
the soft patter of rain against our windows.
Lethargic, the muted lighting makes us softer
than we are, you are flickering between rain
sheet grey and a new pale blue and watching me
fall away from any definitions, synonyms
and the ink stains on my fingers.
Maybe I just need to focus on the smudge I leave
on your cheek, marking the sharp junction
of your smile and eyelashes.
Here, heavy rain still can't dim your eyes.
Blue. Grey. Blue. No pen is that bright.
If I could leave you here, because I know I can't,
I wouldn't write anything except your name
until my writing scrawls across the page and
ends up covering my walls in all capitals.
I have the image in my head, rain clean,
but I haven't uttered a word because
I don't know if the descriptions are enough
to gift such a patient goddess with,
so trust in the dark that my silence is
the heaviest and lightest sound of my heart.
You bring the rain on Tuesday
and then invite me to dance, there are no other words
for this.


**V. K.

Wilderness in our eyes,
running from our destiny
with trees whipping past.
I was gone and so were you.
Laughing in the face of
the meek, who never dared.
Sharing stories and dreams and goals —
our escape plans. Knowing that
if that destiny was catching up
(hanging heavy in our dense minds)
we could find somewhere to hide
that no one else could seek.
We believed we could escape this
dreadful, dreary, destroying destiny
on a pre-emptive honeymoon with
almond flavoured last resorts.
And with arms wide open, we drink the poison.
Overdose on our medication and
wash it down with
wedding champagne.
We won’t apologize,
falling for the wrong

love.


**V. K.

I don't remember
the last time
I was hungry.
My anxiety
shrunken stomach
and I prefer
the cool dimness of
our secluded bedroom.
Alone. Better
than shoveling food,
flavored nothing,
into my dry mouth
under the heat of
your gaze and
listening to how
you've interpreted
my feelings.
Sorry I've ruined
your appetite but
I said I wasn't hungry.
Plus, I worry about,
if I open my mouth
to chew, what would
emerge.


**V. K.

When I was born,
I took a breath and
absorbed all the
dreams and lives
I could lead soon.
I took a breath,
just before my
parents held me
between them and
in that loving nest,
a second womb,
I grew. Their warmth
kindled my flames
and I burned to try
living. I grew until
the space was too
small. Suffocating,
The flame was stifled,
smothered, I prayed
for death, if I died
they would have to
let me go, I swore
they would. I would
slip like ash through
their fingers and then
I could join the fertile,
nurturing soil for
wildflowers. Wild,
no one would ever
put them in a vase.
My parents could not
display them at the
funeral of me.


**V. K.

Our conversations are tepid.
Perfunctory, they run in circles,
hamsters on wheels, wasting time.
I don’t care how your day was.
Undress while we mention some
senseless detail about the weather,
buttons still done and silk pulled
over your head to save seconds,  
so we can lose them between us
and pretend it never happened in
the morning.

I only kiss you when I’m tired of being
alone.


**V. K.

Leave me
in the pieces,
the shambles,
you found me in.
I have not begun
to fit them together.
And I could not allow
another to solve my
broken riddles for me.
For while my puzzle
remains unfinished,
I do not yet know
if I am missing
any edges or
a vital part.


**V. K.

And yes, I still write.
I write him delicate letters,
like the ones I saved for you,
but I think of you
to fake love on paper.

Sometimes, I write the color wrong
of his eyes.
I’ve whited-out my praises of
the dreams I saw in your blue skies,
for the bland, brown that
are his.

And I don’t know
who hurts worse between him or me,
that the white out is still wet
– smudged –
and he sees when I hand them over.


**V. K.

Although the world is glimmering
your eyes are dark.
I think.
They won't meet mine and
your hand curls tighter around her,
while I twist myself into knots.
She looks, though, can she feel it?
The tension?
No. Your stress and my eyes on
her lovely party dress are
subtle. No else can see this.
They see how your smile tilts,
how her eyes shine, how that ring
sparkles.
They see how my drinks sip away.
I've only just finished working,
and some clever friend of ours
– of yours –
I can hear him say he loves
my book. I am listening to you.
You say it often. Murmured softly
against the shape of her neck.
I always needed to remind you
to say the same to me. Oh, yes,
you were so forgetful.
I never said it though.
But you never missed a night  
with me. Did you ever miss me?
And behind your smile, I see pores.
The sweat on your forehead.
You're as nervous as you were,
with your thunderous heartbeats
kneeling in my apartment.
Asking me a question,
the numinous question,
I could never answer right.
Right next to my manuscript,
that held the weight of souls
I created, when I sacrificed
my own.
It's obvious now, a loaded gun,
pressed to my temple, filled with
conventions  and editor meetings  and
my detached penthouse.
I never said it.
It's after, that I think.
In the dimness, that I think.
And I can't stop myself from asking it.
How did I forget so easily?
I never said it back.


**V. K.