I laughed more tonight, than I have in awhile
Wholesome friends
And sweet,
Sweet laughter

I like making honey focaccia
That’s right honey and bread

Kissing the freckles on your nose
Between the rise and fall of the yeast

Subtly sweet taste with

Oil and balsamic
A match made in heaven

Like your lips against my skin

*****, Tito’s?
Whatever you have is fine
Ginger beer
Garnished with lime
Copper mug

Copper
Taste of blood
Rushing to your head
Sharpening with every word I speak
A splitting headache
You always claim to have, when your

You’re
Upset

I want to commit.
You are my only happiness.

How I
let you down
Left and gone
And all I can think about is those two sentences that should never be spoken subsequently and the unwanted control I was given.

Boy
Attachment is not love

I was choking under your grasp
Soaking me in guilt and past lives.

Plucking away my ultimate freedom.

Showering me with love. Until your words take me elsewhere.
*******.
I like being dominate

Let me go.

Olive trees, north of Boston
Mute green buds,
maturing into flowers
Blanketed in frost

            Dipping my toes into the beginnings of      
                                                          mother­hood.

One sole tree and sharp shadows
Fruit the color of deep plum
crystalized in ice

                                    Decisions in motherhood.

In loving memory,
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon,

                                          A Daughters Eulogy

Lying under the plum tree
Buds, ripening like dew in April air
You make plum trees blossom
In the dead of winter
Vigor and bronze.

Apricots on my nightstand
Sun invading my sage linen sheets
My naked body, bare
Hands, against my olive skin
Rest your head on my shoulder
My promenade collarbones
Evoke in my femininity.

Now, you leave me
Broken under the blazing sun,
Feverish eyes and dilated pupils
You are,
Pit of the plum.
Fetal.