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what she wants

she wants words
whispered to her
under softening
blankets of
velvet black
with luminescent
twinkling from
all the stars above


Photo by Murilo Folgosi 


life in the stars

she lives entirely
in the stars
where the flickering
and sparkling
dulls the ugliness
from the spaces
around her

Enter The Wild

The snow is soft and biting to touch
Noah scarcely registers –
he was born for this
defying a savage wilderness
his pads carry him home.

Worried whines escape his throat
concern for master
who was not born for
unresistant to frozen plains
or the wild around him.

Master braves this world for the sick
smell of gold that fills his lungs and
runs through icy veins
risking his one frangible life.

Master tries to warm blackened fingers
by impotent flames that feebly lick with
less verve than Noah licks at his own paws.

Noah whimpers softly –
when the time comes
he is ready to drag
Master home.


if the moon was less round

if the moon was less round
i might pretend to be
more interesting
if she was more square
i could be bolder
by comparison



we have all the hours
in the world, yet
only this moment
and a fathomless
well of memories
used often to
quench our thirst



there is a softness
in the sun
that is not the same
as the softness she
is aching to feel
brushed up against
her homeless shell



her dreams are
more vibrant than
the world’s riches
and the treasures
of her spirit
are more desirable



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