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capitals irk me.
parentheses are comfortable, like my love embraces me, like i slide letters into envelopes, or don't, rather.
uneven lines and fragmented line endings feel more accurate,
real, everything that is not posed or
staged, everything that keeps you
hanging on to the last syllabic
exhale.
on methods.
 Mar 2017 raine miller
Cait Harbs
Do you ever fall in love with echoes?
See dying embers and find yourself transfixed,
gazing upon them desperately,
for reasons you do not know?

Have you fallen in love with a starry night?
Knowing the stars are long expired but still feeling
a gravitational pull towards
those long dead lights?

I do -

I have fallen in love with far too many
weathered headstones,
lain my heart like flowers at the feet of corpses.
I have dared to speak
with the breath of ghosts roaming
galleries and libraries.

*Can you hear them singing, too?
I fall a little in love with every piece of art I read or see.
~
I am not the ocean.
The ocean cannot fit in a drugstore at nine pm, blinking up at fluorescent lights
hearing giggling
being ashamed.
The ocean drowns the people inside her, if she wants to or cradles them but, I?
I am drowned. I am cradled. Held and held down by so many tides, so many hands,
ever-changing never-staying.
The ocean commits herself, she stays put, she holds open her palms and whispers
"I am not afraid to let you stay here. I am not afraid of you, exploring my depths."
I am not the ocean.
Until today, I never understood heartache.

I never understood that thinking about you (how the thoughts come unbidden yet so welcome entrancing encompassing dizzying worrying wonderful) -
your name
your voice - strong and low, speaking softly, only for me
the thickness of your hair, the way it feels against my fingers when I hold your head in my hands
the way your skin tastes after a night of making love
the warmth of your hands and your mouth and your laugh
your scent, that somehow reminds me of both my childhood and times and places I have never known

the feeling of you inside me, molded close and perfect, and the way you toss your head and ***** up your eyes while we're at our peak, as if I were the one who was so unmissable

- could make my insides curl and twist so hard that I have to stop what I'm doing, set down my glass or pen, stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk.

I am drowning in you, taking in deep lungfuls of you, absorbing you into my bloodstream.
The sweetest little death I could ever imagine.
For TCM
 Nov 2016 raine miller
wren cole
just look me in the eyes one more time
stop running from it
look me in the eyes, say the words out loud
"i know i hurt you."
you don't even have to say sorry
you don't even have to cry
n. A homesickness for somewhere you cannot return to, the nostalgia and grief for the lost places of your past, places that never were.

insatiability makes its burrow
in my gall bladder,

wringing bile from the *****,
craving toxins to purge.


i thirst for sweet lexical gaps,
holes in patterns,

dots that don't make shapes
but still gladly connect


komorebi
n. The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees

loveliest in the distinction
it is only komorebi

once filtered, green soul
bleeding through
 Jul 2016 raine miller
The Willow
and I was a mess

I was talking
talking
                 talking


because I talk to protect myself and try to make sense of things and validate myself and
tell lies
that I didn't even know were untrue.
I had no idea.

It was only after I had fought
(bashed myself to bite sized pieces)
did my shingles fall
they fell
they were covering a color found under my skin that
I
forgot
was
there.

Can you guess what it is?

(It's a searing sapphire. Nearly painful to look at, it's so blue. So deep you can get lost in it, and many do.)

I forgot that I am
sharp
I am
emotional
I am a whirlwind, and storm, a train driving faster and faster

I am all this
and I pretend I am a calm meadow.

I broke myself to bits
against you
to remember the color of my soul is not as passive, as safe
as light as I want to believe.
If I were to lie here would you lay with me?
If I took a boat to the end of the world
Would you be by my side as I looked over the edge?

If I found the place we call heaven would it look and feel something like you?

If I were to walk a thousand miles would I find devotion in your shoes?

If you and I grew old would we share memories of a world together?

If you and I learned to love could we begin to fall into it with one another?

Who am I?
Not a prophet of the future

But if we were looking at the end of time, would we spend these last moments completely whole and together?

“Questions” -JP
You never really know how strong you are until you're alone,
crying and forced to pick yourself up off the floor.
That is when you can truly see how big your emotional muscles are
and I promise
they are bigger than you ever thought possible.
Flex them.
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