It Will Be The Unspoken Words That End Us
Because in the language of my mothers the word for water is the same as the word for country and the saline in my veins made me think I could swim those distances with you.
Ours Was A Story Of Moments
He says I speak poetry. I read his body like words on a page—text coiled around the sinew of muscle quotations nestled in the space between his eyelashes. I found solace in the grammar of his collarbone.
Infidelity Tastes Like Salt
Tell me you remember that night.