Under Construction



touch my skin and I burn
with the warmth of a sun larger
and more fierce than the
milky way’s own

the topography of your
body landscapes beneath my
pale fingertips and I tremble
like your own personal
fault line

veins cascading into mine
by shared heartbeat like
a waterfall melting
into a river

with water-colored eyes
draping over me like a
toned blue sea billowing
over the sand of
my body

a marvel

my eighth wonder of the
world colliding into me and
forming a new galaxy
we can call our



Let me speak to you,
in tongues;
my tongue
rolling like hills
against yours

The initial poem
you write with your eyes
before lips crash waves
against rocks that i could swim in
for ages
and never get caught
in the rip tides

Chuckling elation
into your chest
while you thrust
those Irish hips of
yours; inwards

blooming flowers,
nectar seeping,
swallowed whole by
your buzz

and i cry out ecstasy
the longing of a low
hum and its true;

I crave you

A Writer's Work Is Never Done

I forget to stop drinking coffee at 3am
in order to lay with you, you want me
to fall asleep in matched procession
but I choose to dream awake
with my words

I catch the annoyance in your closed
eyelids, waiting for a writer to stop
writing poetry and start writing
with the curves of our bodies, 

I am beyond your reach late at night,
when the curtains are drawn and the
caffeine flows rapidly in my veins

I am tempted to wake you just to ask:
can you love someone who
chooses words over you?

Nocturnal Emanations 

While he’s falling asleep, I kiss him.
I let the secrets pour out of me at 4 am
onto his cracked lips.

In the morning, he has no recollection.
Except botched dreams and
crusty eyelids.

I make him a pot of coffee and drain my brain,
slowly.. exactly the way the water
drips to the coffee filter.

It’s early and I watch your eyelids flutter,
and you are too drunk on coffee
to realize:

I want to crush you and hold you in a jar,
yet I’m the girl with
the pretty wings.


You hand me a beer, without asking, and I’ll never refuse. I watch the level of hops deplete, slipping down my throat, somewhere past my heart, burning organs. At the bottom, made of glass, we see ourselves. You ask me to stay the night, I do. The warmth of your body under sheets curled up into my flesh, is more comforting. It’s a blazing fire more profound than the liquor that burns my throat.

I stare at his lips and want to kiss him. Shake out the frustration and confusion with the flick of my tongue against his. There are other names that live there and I can taste them so I devour them all. They stain my teeth like red wine and black coffee. What’s a part of you, is now a part of me. I allow myself to swallow his questions, his fears, his eyes, the constellations and galaxies of freckles I’ll collide into. Allow it all to swallow me whole. His body’s topography are mountains I want to climb into, a volcano just waiting to erupt and I’m happy to get lost among the rocks and rivers.

Ache – in desire, curiosity, restlessness for rough hands scraping skin flakes, silently, off my cheek.