I miss her toes tickling mine
on Sunday morning
as dust particles float
through the open window,
and all the sheets
and coffee mugs once stained
with crimson lips.
I long for her fingertips
like rose petals connecting
our freckles like constellations,
and like a map
I want to be unfolded
into quiet hands
to be guided back home
(p.)

I tried to call you a month ago
to you sing you the last song I wrote,
but you weren't home.
Tomorrow you will find me
resting near the river.
You can take my body
to the boneyard,
but please do not weep.
I will be there with you
as you kneel by my headstone
and smoke until your lungs bleed.
I will be the flowers at the plot;
I will be the raindrops
clinging to your sweater.
(p.)

She was my green light.
I longed for her so,
but she was out of reach.
She was a beacon into my future,
but better off in my past.
(p.)

Satan wears no horns,
nor does he boast a tail or pitchfork.
He wears soft lips
and freckles in his eye.
You share coffee with him
and your secrets, too.
The devil is the easiest creature
to fall in love with.
I once fell victim
to his sweet forked tongue.
He made a home in my heart;
painted the walls
and planted a garden.
He broke all the plates,
all the flowers died,
and he blamed the destruction on me.
(p.)