the sieve and the sand

Leaving the wheat with the chaff. This is not your mother’s poetry.

i can’t sleep tonight
so i breathe in the beauty
of your supine sighs
in the glow of christmas lights–
kissing prayers onto your cheeks.

1 comment

you can fight against the urge to die but
you’ll only ever find that 100% eventually give in
to scratch said itch and

if this is all there is to life the
hope you have will fail you soon as you realize
these are bad betting odds

and then you re-evaluate your hope