i wander

not because

i'm lost,

but because

i'm searching.

sometimes, when it rains,

i walk through the cemetery

waiting for you to sprout

back to life.

with fingers intwined,

our hearts aligned,

and the moon blushed

as we kissed.

we sip tea in the same room,

but the chairs we sit on

are islands.

the space between our fingertips

is infinite.

i'd carve our names into an evergreen,

(if you'd want me to).

my last breath

will be a poem,

and together

we'll share it.

death crept in

close to you,

but i was closer.

sometimes i get lost

in the constellations

on your face.

pity had a party,
but only invited himself.

sure,

the wind was a troublemaker,

making messes of dresses, hairdos, and trees.

but really, he was just yelling earnestly,

at the top of his voic...

she didn't cry in bed at night because she was sad,

she cried because her pillow was thirsty.

there’s an ocean inside my head,

my lips are matches,

and yours are sparks.

and in the morning
they shook their pillows
violently, hoping
all the dreams they lost
that night would tumble out.