riled and gentle


has your name

written on a piece of paper.”

camels and jewels.


you know.


it’s not a joke.

you never thought so.

it isn’t funny.

it isn’t the first time

you’ve thrown my scars at me.

flailing limbs.

am i your whore?

treading ground i don’t


i don’t belong.

maybe we don’t

speak the same language

after all.

don’t categorize me on dusty shelves

with the rest of them;


you can have all my names.

i will carve them

into your fingertips.

and i will still be able

to fly.

cherry braids

We morph and have wings
like words.
I memorize them the way
lovers memorize faces.
I want you tracing curves,
stealing my embellishments with your tongue.
A raucous frenzy.
I want you worshiping
like they used to do on temple steps
amid streaming citrus and
Balsam and cherries.
Braids and corded crowns call your
name from massive stone stairways.
Idolize me outside the walls.
I will not be taken.
I give.
Startling sensations butterfly my
silk-softened wounds,
as you encase me,
in a prism prison
of war.
Your red sun is shooting sparks
over my lively fatalities,
my breathing cadavers,
my frozen lungs,
my opened heart.