there's something romantic
about red hues and chemical laced air
dipping paper in and out of liquids
while temporary moments in time
are made permanent
it is inescapable, all these memories
even locked away in my draw
I see them pulse from my pillow.

(reading darkrooms)


I think he is aching
not a bad sort of ache
the kind of wanting
that builds up inside your lungs
and spills out over your teeth
I watch it drip down his chin
and stain his clothes
a florescent blue
that glitters and blinds
all at the same time
whenever he smiles
and his face catches the light
it's as if I'm standing above the bluest waters
and I've forgotten how to swim.

(reading blue)