many birds
embarrassed to sleep, I bask in a lavender moon air washed clean by a week of rain i wake to the sound of my friend’s old piano. it’s true: i’m so tired of being alone
embarrassed to sleep, I bask in a lavender moon air washed clean by a week of rain i wake to the sound of my friend’s old piano. it’s true: i’m so tired of being alone
first full moon, plum blossoms, fireworks of pink laugh through the storm’s final splashes within these lifeless limbs a subtle warmth i always seem to forget
these friends, so rare, so unexpected. night of heartfelt talk and beer. so soon we’ll part, and i’ll most likely spill some word i’ll instantly regret
to make a melody: my only task. i ponder when i should decide. prince and callas mingle with the freeway. singing in the shower.
the sound of rain—a dampness in the skin. one knows, but doesn’t quite believe, that winter nourishes just as much as spring— within cold bones: hurray!