Lives in the poems in the margins
of dogeared second hand books
Her hair curls in the volute of the s
she inscribed eloquently
in the hair-lined second hand paper
in black ink
smudged by her finger
or a tear

she watches me through the screen
of an old crime movie
on a rainy day
her whispers are the spaces in between the words
the gunshots couldn’t say


She kisses me whenever I see the moon
for her bones twist like Diana
leading the nymphs in a dance through the woods
resplendent and divine


I will meet her between dreams
when it feels there is water in your mind
but she will be forgotten by the morning
lethes kisses made me blind
no matter what our distance
of her god will remind.
our souls are intertwined