from my other space: fallen

self delusion rendered to tiny bits of flotsam,

fading into the aquamarine.



ephemeral technology the lifeline that stills the drowning

the voice, velvet steel soft,

reminiscent of evenings of music, real food and secret promises.

feeds the soul.


fingers twitching to trace spine and skull in a single sinuous line.

hand trapped like a fragile bird in an iron cage,

sweet breath in my hair.

an arched back, an elbow, a flexed knee.

the slow rumble of belly laughter and a smile.

feeds desire.


the discovery of almonds, the same cadence walking.

the protective hand in the middle of my back,

possessive yet barely there not interfering with my freedom.

silly ditties, serious conversation and silence that never really is.

feeds the heart.


and decade old walls come a crumbling down,

bits of sand into the whirlwind

to fade into the aquamarine.