In the chaos of raindrops and leaf-fall
you can hear her crushed sigh through
the smeared windowpane and almost
almost discern the lap of pale flesh
by dark waters, gasps uttered for a shadowy prince
from an untried throat, their echoes left for dead
against the cold of the floor;
salt stains her thighs and the glass while
smudged mascara runs down flooded cheeks,
her fingers groping for an anchor, a body, anything
to stop the inundation of her soul.

psyche’s curse

heavy air sharp,

cold bursts from



exploding with


at a touch

in darkness

tongue’s grit,

coarseness of a single

stranded hair

also dark

also imagined

a brush of hands and

pressure gently building

with ache I turn away

from the pillow


the artificially warmed molecules

of here,

endless grains of sand

oppressive in their