The best things come out of the red.
Blue.
Like your eyes

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.

Honeybee, honeybee
Tender in world blue
She’d allow hummingbirds to sip sugar from the pits of her veins

They’d nest in the soft waves of her long dark hair, that sticks to her lips when the wind blows

An authentic woman
Bare faced, beautiful plain skin
Varicose veins popped on her softened cheeks
Roman nose, dark features
Promenade eyebrows
And dimples that dance when she smiles

Her body is similar to the one’s crafted from marble in Italy
Hippier than most, our mom would say
When she tries on a cream silk dress cradles her waist

My aunt Lolly used to give me cinnamon tea and orange peels,
Aroma of citrus and spice fill the kitchen,
Deutsch cinnamon to be exact

Quills of cinnamon, steeped into my teacup
A spike of apple moonshine, coating my throat with warmth

You would say
As kids, I remember my dad giving us whiskey when we were sick.

Yesterdays, bottles of brandy
Today’s headache coupled with cinnamon tea, garnished with an orange peel. Miss you

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

Some of the times, I was spilling over the brim with love, giddiness, or when giggles bubbled through my lips.

When you asked me if you could take me to Chicago. Yes. Over and over again.

We rescued a dog on Rutledge Ave. Cotton was his name.

This may be premature. From how I feel about you right now,
I'd travel around the world with you, giggling, dancing, so much kissing, splitting desserts
And I really hope it happens in my life.
Slipping into the corners of Chicago, where the curve of your face feels familiar to those around you, learning about you. There's so much I want to know.

I'll think of you anytime I hear the word "Chicago," and a smirk will climb from the corner of my lips.

This time with you has felt like the equivalent of a warm blanket pulled out of the dryer, wrapped around my cheeks.

I can assure you I haven't felt unsure about you.

I like the freckles on the bridge of your nose; some say freckles are kisses from angels. Lucky you

When we danced cheek to cheek in my room, you said, "I've never danced cheek to cheek with anyone before."

When you told me how lucky you felt that you got to meet me, I cried. You kept taking fake to-go orders from McDonald's, and they all got delivered as kisses on my cheeks.

The day after you left, I was talking to the mailman, and I was so upset. He told me a story of when he was 26, living in Hawaii, and this girl at the time, now his current wife, came to visit him. For two weeks, they traveled the island together, and when she left, he lay on the beach and watched her plane take off back to Providence. He said, "So I know how you feel. I cried like a baby, and it's ok to miss someone, and it's ok to feel sad." I smiled and cried some more.

You're in Michigan, getting ready for your brother's wedding, and today I walked past a couple sitting on a bench at Colonial Lake, pressed against each other, they had no interest in the world around them. That feeling felt so foreign to me for months, until I met you.

It's so early and premature, but I believe in every lifetime, I'd want this person to be mine.

Thank you, with every ounce of love I have within me, wrung out and twisted through

She is lovely
like apricot juice-
sweet and ****

delicate
like ripe fruit

I love when
The sea air
Dances with your hair

You are so beautiful

He lay, slumber, neck perched against the wooden desk covered in a sage silky cloth. Teeth rested against his bottom lips. Through the gap between his teeth is a low-pitched breathing, like a tea kettle finishing its brew in the rhythm of the rise and fall of his stomach. While his thick eyebrows resemble their origin contradicting to the bristly stubble on his head, parading his full cheeks that melt into his quivering chin. His thighs represent the one’s of his mothers with natural aging much to evident for such a young child. His stomach exhibited its roundness, open to the still air.

I got high in poetry class today.

To the girl next door,
who knew
I would love you forever

Strut, with swollen feet
Walking on America Street

Sirens
Blue, Red
Red and Blue

Held at gunpoint
Please, don’t make any quick movements
Wince, I looked away.

Old friend
Why didn’t-
No why didn’t you stay
I thought you married her, her blond hair, and soft eyes
Why didn’t she stay

Red curly afro hair,
She is not your age

Why didn’t you give me the time of day?

Oh well,
Walking on America Street

"I'm so afraid I won't find anyone"

How old are you-
So young
Relax

and delete tinder