I constantly find myself
torn between the insides of my thighs
and indecision between good intentions
that pave a gilded path towards perdition
that you curl upwards towards heaven
like a sneering lip

but I admit that I love it
when your diction twirls me
around your fingertip until
I am at your beck and call

---

between
the wishful thinking
and the crazy

sometimes just settling
into happiness is good enough for me

because I've learned
that to coast on cruise-lack-of-control
means for once I get to enjoy the ride

love, war, and cardiac arrest

1. God cheated when he stenciled in
the outline of my bee stung lips with a shaky hand
as he penciled in anaphylactic shock and uncertainty
because I am allergic to the way your lips assault my skin.

2. Your red-fern eyelashes are infected by napalm
that sings lullabies to the ground before tucking it in.
The remnants of pesticides flutter weakly
between our butterfly kisses.

regroup

I have moments where I will listen
to Hope perched on my shoulder like a songbird,
but she ain't got nothin' on reality
because your flighty kisses
flutter weakly on my lips
like the aftertaste of optimism
that was seasoned
with the sun
rising too early

and baby, our horizon is fading
because I've spent my entire life
standing still in her shadow