within arms
of a wicker chair
whispered thoughts

Falling in Love

a room full of butterflies
beat on the door
their fragile wings falling
one at a time
nevertheless they mate
they die
and one small egg sleeps
on the ground

In the Fog

let me tell you
how it feels to be dead.
empty
cold
during the day I’m invisible
during the dark times, invincible
I can brush your cheek
with the breeze
if I like
I can trip you up with roots
roots you scurry to avoid
a clock strikes twelve
cold empties
how it feels to be dead
let me tell you.

Pumpkin Juice

wine and cures for madness

a fitting pair

like Cinderella’s slippers

be they glass or fur

they fit the mood

fragile and worn

siblings tip and rip

the oath, blood-sworn

a matter of sleep

a pea-podded bed

sugar plum dreams

oven gingerbread

fingers wring fingers

to empty the bride

happily ever after

comes eventide

Translucence

What do they see?
The empty air must
bare shocking views
to keep eyes blank
and forward.
Flesh-like cherry cheeks
sealed in porcelain,
limbs stiff with fear.
Unravelled, unhinged,
I lay them down
in measured boxes,
and with fingers soft
and shaken,
close their lids.