Here lives lie in petals and ornate carvings. And I, I am overtaken by what remains in the lettering my fingertips trace. The flesh on the back of my neck rises in Braille, here among broken ground and still waters. I kiss the names of the sacrificed, and exit under ivory archways.



Darling, you see, your love has driven me quite mad, but I cannot help entangle myself in my muse. I want to live with you in fields of sugarcane and unkempt flowers, where this universe of fire and ice can leave us uninterrupted in our bed of leaves and dew. I can only hope to pass through the summers and springs with you, sipping on sweet tea and apricot seeds.

Birthday on Market Street


We sat in crooked wooden chairs and watched a man mumble to himself and another wipe his nose against the sleeve of his Disney themed sweatshirt. Quite a paradox seeing such a hardened man adorned with childhood characters.

The End of All that I Knew


I can still remember the first time he introduced himself to me. We shook hands – which seems absolutely ridiculous when I think of what we were and maybe still are to each other – and I could feel the static cling between us. I felt my lips part slightly when he repeated my name back to me.

Papa’s House

Papa and Sam

Papa’s house always smelled of pancake batter. Pancakes and orange and vanilla musk from his aftershave. The warm haze of the stove’s steam left me an eager five-year-old, awaiting the sound of the spatula’s spin and the sizzle of butter and cooking oil. Nothing else could beat the privilege he always gave me of topping each pancake with six chocolate chips. In all of his cooking perfection, he always managed to maintain the texture of the chocolate, so that the chips would melt on my tongue rather than in the cushion of pan-heated batter.


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