Night is gentle with us, the sky stays a little longer, blushing orange as it kisses the sea, you kiss me, suddenly, and I am a calamity, warm wherever your hands explore, precious pads on my fine floral prints. Menthol meets the wine you had an hour ago, your tongue, talking softly to my painted…

I began writing about your eyes, how I love the lines that live beside them, the juxtaposition of the youthful glimmer and the aged glamour. I was going to write about your eyes, but I saw them watching me, shining, sweet, so nervous, begging your lips to ask, if I was bored. I think about…

Inside my corpse, is a gallery. Haunted, harrowing harm, that I inflicted on myself, a collection of corpses, within my corpse, that is kept warm, by my eternally beating, broken heart. I don’t know that I ever existed, sometimes I looked at myself as a museum of my muses, how they slipped through my fingers,…