Unicorns don't exist.
Because sometimes just the idea is enough.

Little cracks like weeping windows
we grow opaque
and under the pale blue moon
(tainted)
you seep into my soul


© A. Leigh

that my name, sounds so much sweeter when it rolls off your tongue.
I also understand that in a couple of years there will be a new girl sitting in your bedroom with the door locked, admiring the way you whisper
her name into her neck. But for now it is me, so please.
Say it again. "

I want to smoke a cigarette.

I want--
to lean against a doorway, my converse shoelaces brushing against the brick.
to stare up at an overcast sky and know that gray doesn't always need a slow, mournful soundtrack. to feel the paper between my fingers and on my lips and take a deep,
deep
drag.


I want
to empty my lungs of everything they have and watch it all curl, wispy and insubstantial--
watch it disappear into the bustle of moving cars as the coffee shop door tinkles while people in pretty scarves and
pea coats and
black-rimmed glasses
with fingerless gloves
and nose piercings
and black tights covering skinny legs
hold hands and exchange knowing smiles and
enter behind me,
and cold, February ocean wind lifts the tips of my hair.

I want to taste it--those few minutes of isolated reflection. It'd be like meditation beneath an awning on a city street.

"it's been a while,"
she said with a smile as she overlooked the
foggy silence of the surrounding space.

There's nothing like the quiet of the
world at three in the morning. It's about
a cushion-y, not-quite-fill-your-throat
kind of darkness, and it's comforting
to know that everyone around you is
supposed to be asleep.

You're alone in the world and
each breath you take is all yours.
Nothing is expected of you in those moments,
and you don't expect much from
yourself. You sit in the warmth of
blankets and stare out into the velvety
air, dreaming waking dreams about
everything you want and need, and
only your beating heart can disturb you.
And when the birds start chirping and
pre-dawn gray bathes the earth,
you can shift your position and smile at
the trees with dry lips and a welcome
sense of quiet--of the feeling of long,
winding roads and wind through your hair.

their words taste sweet
like an uncorked bottle of wine
sipping from mason jars
the glow of candlelight on swirled wooden grains

we lay in bed
blankets tangled between us
laughter and sadness
just one more year and we can feel the time in our hands


emerson and whitman
and
wordsworth.

The first night I stayed under the stars at your house,
I tossed and turned until finally I woke you with
Soft kisses over your bare shoulders and on your chest
Just above your heart.
After stirring out of your slumber, your lips brushed mine
And the crook of your arm fit perfectly around
My body as you held me close.
One of us just barely awake, the other wide.

Learning to sleep with someone new takes time;
Discovering the way their chest rises and falls
Like the tide comes up to kiss the sand
Before receding back and pushing forward again.
Listening to their deep breaths as they lay
Almost lifeless on their back,
Matching their breaths to heartbeats beneath your cheek.
The way they stir in the sleep and reposition
Themselves so their arm holds you safe and secure
Even when they’re dreaming.