There's a man standing down behind the tree, maybe that's a face, maybe that's a leaf. I'm terrified of the dark.

Your elegance entrances me.
The way you carry your words
the way they roll off your tongue
and melt like butter in my mind.
The way you carry your body
like you own the world
like you own the universe.
I am entranced by your elegance.

I whispered your name into the inner
twisting curl of a conch shell, hoping
an echo from saltier waves would carry
it through shadow-rimmed currents until it
flowed softly along the shore, like my breath
settling across your neck

deadwood haiku is
exactly what the **** it
sounds like, *******

The young postman
Walked the midnight lane
Remembering the scent of lonely Gregory
But who is Gregory? He never knew.
Only the scent from the age-worn letters
in his hands.
Full of moths
And Lavender.