rose in midair

she has hands like paper planes folded - - in waiting. some times, meticulously shaped at others, a careless heap more often than not, they...

William Faulkner once said: "The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that ...

time stretches like a bedsheet across the shape of the mattress i hear the springs groan a little but not from weight, no the pillows whispe...

he has eyes like the weather they mist when it is dark outside, or rather, the texture becomes maybe more like fog, or like the dewy grass w...

the weight of the afternoon spills into the cloudy sunlight (cloudy like your eyes) your hair tousled i am wondering where i led us why i fe...

"i never learned how to go slow," he said while casually winding down Highway One "it's really a tapestry," he says,...

she has hands like strawberries round- small, and dimpled when she speaks they tremble and pucker, and i know you would have to cover them w...

after me comes the flood, i whisper. when he says "no" in russian, suddenly i think of her brown hair spilling across the pillow a...

I am safe here. There are haunting melodies of accordion and violin encasing our embrace. I am safe here, as the flood of light that usually...

dreams are useful in compacting days, or helping my eyes to hide behind curtains of haziness or fog the kind that collects in airy container...