it clings
like a woman's perfume.

a faint scent
that lurks
the steepest alleys.

a puff of smoke
across every corner
of a lonely room.

a pollen carried
by chattering birds
that grew a garden.

how mysterious
words are.

a bomb without the pin.
a knife ready to ****.

heavy lids, batting lashes—
flipping pages through my book
while the moon is my lampshade,
i shall read it you.

lately i've been thinking
how the flow of life
changes direction
because of that one decision

what could've happened
if i...
took that step;

answered that call;

opened that door;

what could've happened
would've happened
if i trusted myself more.

now i'm dwelling
on trapped possibilities
writing poems about
what could've beens.

Letters danced on its own
when I write about you
but
you waltzed
with somebody else
who didn't know how to.