the bottom drawer

hand-me-downs are what you're buying now
a dollar here and there for someone elses dusty trash
our own treasure is becoming past
it's just a yard sale for memories
fountains of pennies for 1 cent photos
crinkled bills pulled from pockets: love for sale
you're selling us
we're just the bottom drawer
of your new armoire

beside my bedside

he asked her to follow, she did not respond. he asked her to run, she continued walking on. she wanted him to ask once more, just to want her once more. but he's just a thought; a black tea stain on bedside oak; a novel's bent page. he's paper thin. just a borrowed book

Ifs of the moon

She looked like she had always looked
felt like she had always felt
and moved with absence of grace
she was familiar to herself
and that was the problem

if the moon was her love
would she lend a bent head up to him every night?
or would she change
one star for every night

your fingertip strokes

i want water colors
mixing and stirring
spilling into one another
a painting, yes
that's what we'll be

when i surrender

you make me want to be
in perfect disarray

content with discontentment

Braided hair, down her back.
light blue dress without a wrinkle
feet arched; perfectly naked
the laces quiet atop her empty shoes
they named her lonely

And she flew with angel wings

It's a different kind of love,
that's what her mother said.
But it broke the little girl's heart all the same.