Bursting cherries
remind me of
the vibrancy of your
curious lips

Juicy peaches
drippin' down your
chin; a memory
from years
before.

Sour lemons
perking you up,
for the hungry
kiss.

Oranges glisten as
they mimic
sundown in the
city.

Sunsets gleam
orange and yellow,
illuminating crowds of
individuals, morphing
everyone into
no-one.

Alone, you peak through;
standing with
intention and innocence
among the shadows and
empty bodies, admiring
Mother Nature's
harvest.

You stand there
looking as sweet as
a fig; as wild and ripe
as a strawberry,
just waiting
to get
eaten.

Just waiting for
me to
place my lips
so delicately around
the curve of your
ripened
body.

Pale legs sprawl out;
untangling and stretching,
as I absorb the
Montana air.

Isolated, we sit,
under the big
sky.

Silent.

White clouds float
through a sea of
orange.

The same shade of
orange as those sugary
push-up's my father would
shove down my
throat.

Gas station sweets
to make me
me forgive
him.

I shake the feeling
of comparisons—
they never did me
any good.

Instead, I lie down
and allow you
to touch my
tense body.

Softly, you
reach over, muffling
words of beauty and
astonishment.

I do not flinch.

I flash a smile
and focus on
Montana.

The mountains in
West Virginia
rolled; they flowed,
so graciously
together.

There was never a
road that was not
winding.

I've never
seen a rugged
mountain.

Snow-capped and
radiant.

Not until Montana.

Until this moment,
I, too, have
tried to
flow.

Living the same ways,
in which I experienced,
Mother Nature.

Going through the
motions—
with no purpose.

No passion.

The fear of becoming
an abrasive,
overbearing woman
urged me to
flow.

To slide through
life, barely
noticed.

Never climbing
for more,
to discover the
true beauty in
becoming
a bit
rocky.

“When those menthol’s inhabit the deepest parts of my tarnished lungs, I faintly remember the way you first positioned your hand across my thigh. Innocence was nowhere to be found in this moment. Instead, your eyes grew wide; crystallized and chivalrous. You spoke with knowledge of this whirling world, for there will always be certainties: bats will swoop for the moth in the midst of the night, the eyes of the villain may deceive you, purity doesn’t always mean superiority, and most importantly, the shaking of your hand won’t stop once you’ve reached the filter.”
– Engulfed in You: part 1


“The shards of glass from my past still cut me every now and again. I don’t want to bleed all over you; all over us, so I bandage myself up. Over and over. It’s a never-ending wound that I can’t seem to stitch. The ache eases when your breath enters me. I think I’m in love with you.”
– Engulfed in You: part 2


“Maybe love isn’t the word. It isn’t savory on my taste buds. Love doesn’t fill the corners of my mouth with delicacy, nor aggression. It doesn’t satisfy every inch of me. I don’t wish to be in ambiguity with you. I want certainty. I want words to fill me up and pour out of my mouth like they have overstayed their welcome. I want to feel tranquil when you lie next to me. I crave chaos. I want your hands to grab harder once they’ve discovered the bruising. Lingering lascivious for one another. Maybe love is too small for how big I truly feel.”
– Engulfed in You: part 3


“Vibrations violate my ears. The sincerity of the chords blend perfectly. They mix up like an old recipe inside my head. Isolation sets in once your locked eyes drift away as the hours flow past us. Blistering hands strike the door. The pounding never stops. It’s a continuous knocking of a door; a continuous knocking of the heartbeat. You never stopped plucking the strings on your acoustic; the design haunts me. The dove stares into my uncertain eyes: striking and radiant. It’s everything I wish I could be for you, but I’m not the perfect melody. I don’t soar. I cannot rest. I’m the crash of a shattering liquor bottle that slices your foot the next morning.”
– Engulfed in You: part 4


“The twinges of pain don’t occur as often when you’re around.”
– Engulfed in You: part 5


“I love the taste of your fingers down my throat. Throbbing heart; don’t slow down. My eyes are half-open but I can see you perfectly in this dim-lit room. Calculated movements come my way with short breaths. I’m never as vulnerable as I am when I’m begging for you.”
– Engulfed in You: part 6