Before the sun ascends
Through dawns first cloud,
Hold on to the pastel sky
Of a late November's morning.

Let the waking world below
slowly warm your spirit,
Play a song to soothe the pain and remember, but don't fear it-

All this beauty of what is to come
can only ever be made real
When shared with those who understand-  
Intrinsically,
How and what you feel.

Sparkling, silvery, shades of grey.
Skin, shivering, brain of dismay.

Trees, trancing, bare naked sky.
Patiently, pondering, preparing to fly.

Wind, whistling, a dancing swoon.
Sounds, serenading a sparkling moon.  

Secret , system of the seasons.
The rhythm of winter needs no reasons.

Seasonal affective disorder,
Justify this infective inorder.

Find me tearing violets, my love,
in a manic daze; I am running out of softness and daylight,
like winter’s cruel hours


“but I will crown your hair with these torn violet tiaras
and your soft throat, twine with woven garlands”


and I will dig into my tongue for the remaining metaphors
beneath the bourbon, until odes drench my lips,
I will stitch my wounds shut and ready for your apricot kisses —
I ache to be kissed away,
to waste away before your sun-speckled eyes
like a tiny fae in your flower basket, I ache to settle
in your dainty hands,
in lithe fingers lost in my wind-blown hair.


My November, my gentlest love,
how I breathe you in like my grandmother’s letters —
how you consume me
in curious ways
and for the first time, I am not afraid of the softness
buried and warm inside my bone marrows.


Tell me, darling, will you stay?
Will we stay
this time
for more than a kiss?
Will we linger longer
than silhouettes in a dream?

sky like combed smoke
unseasonably warm for mid November
carrying my coat
i wonder if winter depression
can be missed this year

We weren’t supposed
To come across one another
It was a November breeze
That made us crash into
Each other’s arms
Just to leave us
Shattered in pieces

i didn't have a single wish to make
at 11:11 today