beneath the frog’s soft belly
i found you —
not grand, not loud,
but cracked open
like a peach too ripe with truth.

the city spun on,
drunk on ruin bars and ghosts,
but we stayed low,
where quiet grows —
thick like moss —
and hearts speak
without permission.

i didn’t say it back:
i love you.
as though feeling was a crime.
but i regret it now.
baby, i’d serve
a thousand sentences
for something so divine.

your heart
didn’t pour —
it flooded.
and now mine —
is finally open,
mouth full of your name.

i’ll let the fog burn
bright above us,
and we’ll watch
from our underworld
of whispering soil —
wine-warm,
thinly worn,
relentlessly soft.

Living simple, no

belongings, just floating on --


a plank in the sea.

the peasant girl
who once brought water
from the well
in cracked hands
has returned.
she didn’t mean to
leave her home behind —
it was just to escape
the silence between
what she needed
and would be never given.
she left with nothing
but a hunger for life,
so she started living,
and never apologised.

One day I went to France on a day trip
I returned later
It was OK

"New year, new me,"
a mantra whispered into the dark,
as if the stroke of midnight
can wipe clean the etchings
of who we were at 11:59.

We wear the weight of traditions
like party hats—
countdowns, clinking glasses,
resolutions scrawled on napkins,
as though promises made in the haze of champagne
carry more truth.

At midnight, the world holds its breath,
waiting for the shift,
for time to absolve us.
But the seconds press on,
steady, indifferent,
while we convince ourselves
that this time it will be different.

Tomorrow, the confetti will settle.
The mirror will reflect the same face.
Yet somewhere in the flicker of a sparkler,
or the echo of laughter,
is the hope that pretending
might someday make it real.

Good morning USA,
How joyous am I,
To be waking in this country,
Of all the days,
The 4th of July.

As the red winged Robins pass me by,
I stare out at a spot of sunshine,
Across the hall.
Sumer time seems to fall,
With no care for my voice at all.

Soon I know these times will go,
Like our young country,
We grow out of touch.
It becomes hard to reach,
A point of sound sanity.

These late nights are all we've got,
Carnival games, shirt stains,
Twelve dollar fries!
Staring deep into your eyes,
We find silence in their cries.

Clouds of smoke wander around the house,
We keep the grill out of the way,
But peckish little hands happen to stray,
Such delicious food, so many trays!

Happy freedom day.

Your laugh,
my sigh,
melt away
in the citrus and heat.
The sun beats down
on my back
in undulating waves.
I drink it in,
but it leaves an aftertaste—
unnervingly inevitable.
Soon it’ll be over.
It won’t last…
I know.

But before I leave,
I want to waste
my last days
getting lost
in the haze
of your sun-kissed
summer face

Velvet-soft touch,
a rainbow sunrise,
naïve smiles
reflected in your eyes.

Caribbean lightning,
words written in sand,
goosebumps rising
up my arm, down my hands.

Tropical jungle,
a caressing breeze,
sun-kissed freckles
spilling over me.

Sweat-drenched longing,
a turquoise bay,
your quiet glance
burning like fate.

Scorching sunlight,
hunger in flames,
a mariachi chorus
dancing 'round the blaze.

Spanish murmurs —
'Vamos al bar',
your family waits
with mezcal in a jar.

Bare feet wandering,
a crimson sky,
the sea kisses shells
the tide leaves behind.

Seductive darkness,
a star-scattered dome,
the high-risen moon
spins legends of home.

A gentle touch,
chestnut-brown eyes,
beneath the palms,
desire comes alive.

Laughing gulls,
a tide that won’t part —
and in this sand
I bury my heart.