Food is a metaphor for ease; for lack of reserve that comes only when you …
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The Poet and the Muse
The darkest hue when the clouds are abalone, are as whispers in-between lips, they collide …
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Beautifully Bound
Why does the sky blush so much, I know, oh mere mention of his name …
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Wildflower in the Rain
Even before I fully wake, even before the rays hit the window sill am met …
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Song of a Poetess Dreaming
New Orleans, where puddles remain stubbornly free of ice or at least that’s how it …
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These hands, this reach that goes beyond and electrifies
Should the thought of whispering sweet nothings to me cross your mind; the mirror in …
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