my heart is a dark, warm bread
Effective exchanges

Quotidian flambé

It's San Andreas' Fault!

Meet me in the middle, on the Bullen discontinuity

Siderophiles streaming around my neck and on to my color bones

Beholden to- the wild ivy sneaking up the walls of a vila on a strada

Dreams are as an entangled cassette tape brain to be rolled back into euphony with a Ticanderoga eraser pencil
before we are awaken.

I shall indirectly join rituals of affection

Transferred to me and smeared over my both wrists, the miasma of deteriorating printing ink on sooty pages bound in leather covers is my newfound and full bodied perfume.