Lashes

She lies in bed

and is momentarily distracted

by the rolling

of an acorn

down her roof.

Are the squirrels

up too?

She wondered—

as she rubbed

her eyes.

So tired

were they,

so sad.

But the tired

was accompanied

with a churning mind

insistent upon rummaging

through sweet, sweet

memories.

She felt a loosening

of a few lashes

as she blinked away

what it was like to

love him.

And she took a moment to

really,

really

make the wish known

to the universe

that this

was what

she wanted.

Come back to me

She said aloud

before she

blew them away.

Absent-mindedly

she rubs her eyes for more

lashes

to gather more wishes,

to gather more chances.

Lashes

She lies in bed

and is momentarily distracted

by the rolling

of an acorn

down her roof.

Are the squirrels

up too?

She wondered—

as she rubbed

her eyes.

So tired

were they,

so sad.

But the tired

was accompanied

with a churning mind

insistent upon rummaging

through sweet, sweet

memories.

She felt a loosening

of a few lashes

as she blinked away

what it was like to

love him.

And she took a moment to

really,

really

make the wish known

to the universe

that this

was what

she wanted.

Come back to me

She said aloud

before she

blew them away.

Absent-mindedly

she rubs her eyes for more

lashes

to gather more wishes,

to gather more chances.

Fifteen

I hadn’t seen him

much

in the weeks

that passed.

He was

busy.

I was

busy.

But when

he came

through

my front door,

surprising

me by being

so early,

keys still

in my hand

from work,

I barely

caught

sight

of his eyes.

I had him

for fifteen

minutes

and my focus

was solely on

relaying how much

I had missed him.

His touch,

his scruffy

beard

that makes my face red

for an hour

after he leaves me,

the way his hand

slips down to my ass.

Keys drop.

His sunglasses drop.

The way his tongue

feels against mine.

If I bite I feel

I can taste more of him.

I thought it was bullshit—

the saying

Distance makes the heart

grow fonder.

But its true,

If it’s the

right

person.

The Goddamned romantics

got it right.

It also makes you

hot as hell

wanting the other

needing other

feeling high

for such a

short period of time—

And then wondering

where the time went

and why you’re

still in bed alone. 

Yoga Breathing

He sat

at the best

table

to see

through

the windows

of her work.

Alone.

Hat on.

Forgettable attire.

Watching her

in a subtle,

unassuming manner

until she

broke.

Recognition.

Literally

suffocating

because

hate

and anger

and fear

and pure

raw

jagged

emotional

exhaustion

hit her core

after the initial thought—

It’s him.

She broke—

well she was

already broken,

she had

just duck-taped

all the cracks

and put away

the pain

in the trunk of

the basement

of her teenage years.

Then it, he, was

was in her face;

or was he?

Did she see him?

Was it just a copycat?

A lookalike that the

Universe decided

to plop in her lap

and say—

Have a fucking

fun time

with this

because you can’t

mentally deal

with it

in any other

capacity?

Either way

She was

diminished

to such

a fucking

pathetic,

panicked,

woman,

chugging champagne

in the bathroom

hoping it would

numb the possibly perceived

situation.

Black

stained her

face,

yet highlighted

the physical

scar

on her left cheek

from another man.

She felt

15 again, in a diner

in San Francisco,

trying to buy

time until

someone could save her

from the drunken mess

driving her down

wrong streets

and taking her phone

so she couldn’t warn

anyone

there was trouble

in the air again.

She drowned

by the way,

if you were

wondering.

She never

searched

for help;

her mother

told her

to just utilize her

yoga breathing.