transfusion
words the color of frozen blood
fall from my fingers and onto
a blank page, breaking its indifference
with a cracked smile:
like the rise of empires,
lucid and prepossessed,
my every truth is only transient.
all innocence
a little thank-you note
to a stranger i never met
for the smell of a sweet cologne
which lingered on the skin
just above my waist,
ignored the mirror,
the doubt and the regret,
buried them deep
inside the curled ball of me and the damp
expensive sheets where i fell asleep
smiling
hours afterward.
the transient
that day something in the sky
wasn’t quite right.
muddy-fielded February
left footprints across the threshold,
lost herself in waves and eddied reflections,
drew in dry breath
and scoffed at anthropomorphism;
looked up at the sunny sixty-degree sky
and shrugged.
something wasn’t quite right,
her insentient shadow fallen grotesquely
without consideration for rhythm or aesthetic
and so turning her back without consideration
of turning back
from uncertainty, from darkness
she walked.
