bed of blues

    Red blossoms on a bed of blue branches singeing skylines it becomes so silent out here out in this sea of moss cicadas quiet down as if they finally found their mate when will I- when will it be my time to feel that peace


    Peach rises along that frame dewey drops speckled on your skin I’ve written such verses hundreds of times yet the words still do not- Why don’t they come out right

painting verses

      I am thinking of you as I type these little words out, sculpting them finely in order to perfectly grasp your essence. With your sun kissed skin and wicked eyes, devilish smile; two tiny flicks to peel layers off of my wings. That white was too haggard for me anyways- it doesn’t…

ripened moons

    You come alive when the moon has ripened towering up on four paws chasing that mountain of blue Yellow eyes set out on budded pastures Rugged claws begging- pleading- for that freedom I can see it in you that crave the desire You wish to be let go to not belong and I…


    I am starting to count one dot two dots pressed against your skin they connect with the dimples in your cheeks like you are to me


You were never mine, so I wonder why I miss you so. I miss you like you were apart of me, like my soul can’t bare to go on without you.


    You are cascading off of a flowers husk branded and beautiful you are yet blinded, blinding, your roots binding me against petals until I am suffocating drowning in a sea of daisies      

molding stars

  You have a band of stars entwined around your throat latching and spewing cold balls of matter   If you grasp it you said you’ll become the ice that lies in my veins   So touch it I did

The Muses Path

    You’re an endless painting you’re not just ordinary artwork you travel on for miles and miles scraping sediments off the earth burning moonlight in your wake carving up a muses path narrowed by bits of your laugh just for you- this terrain we made just for you

stars dropping silently

    Stars fall as fickle as leaves out here casting their shadow against this muggy little windowpane I imagine us as them painted in that sky with not a shred of distance between us and it warms me burns me up like those balls of gas flashing pentagrams save for that that washed up…


  I tasted the voice before I heard it. It was so soft and succulent in its speaking; ripened like the flesh of an apple, crimson in its color. You whispered words here and there, the willows singing along with you. I had thought to myself quickly, that only gods and goddesses had such a…