Monday, April 7, 2025

Nor Perfume That Smells Like Cloves

I'm not a cake, but if I was, it would involve condensed milk.

I'm not 1992, but an old song a student mentioned has played in my head all evening.

I'm not a balcony; still, I find something lovely in them, outlined by palm leaves.

Nor oil in water in a parking lot; yet with you, I beam, blue, rose, gold.

at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Devotion

Some part of you is always yourself at 12 with the clunky black laptop that held your poems in a scroll THE RESURRECTION Listening to the ra...

  • (no title)
     
  • I think of you
     I finally listened to a song you used to post, to tell me to go away. It's both a rejection and maybe some attempt at a tender send-off...