martha's vineyard: it was golden

new york city: something like regret hanging in the air

new york city: the corner of my room

only when these stones topple into ruin - long after the strings of leaves and thorns wash away - will the work of art be complete.

new york: good hair

new york city

rode our bikes downtown at 3 a.m. for an early morning falafel

new york city: these are my words, your words

we kiss on the blue sofa
and in the mirror, there’s smoke

rain tumbles toward oblivion

its hard to bear,
so we empty ourselves out

only i catch the shadow before it shifts.

i turn, curve myself against him
i, always

our pleasures are displaced
in the morning, we’ll drink milky coffee in front of strangers

but look now, the branches shiver, they swagger,
lurching like puppets
against the monsoon afterglow.

nina simone: don't you pay them no mind