my little secret
I don't want you
when I feel like
a quarter of the rest.
We're a black moon
under done
paper tongue
soggy home stricken tears.
I'm lost in the grey purple highlands
under a white note of winter.
But the sun peaks between wide cliff
ass cheeks & points a route home over the sea.
Surrounded in brush, craggy growths in the
infrequent rivulets tumbling over rocks
brambles pluck at my skin
just a drip in the earth.
I sit in the ampersand
I am seeping into the rock
face.
