How does one speak of love
amnesia is an attic full of salvation,
a tainted spine brewing soft waters into memory.
you speak a language recently forgotten,
of sentences reeking of mason jars and tombstones;
weaving a sister tongue of lost identity
I often wonder if you remember how warm figs taste like, or the scent of sour raisins staining your shoulder,
If it were up to me, I would kiss words into your mouth, breath them with silken tenderness and tuck them behind your teeth so you never have to sing a lullaby of wounded silence.
today, I find you try to form my name at the back of your tongue, moving your lips along the shape of my skin;
your words hover around like a
nostalgia in waiting
and outcomes a hand.
you only remember me in parts.
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Offshore
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A familiar swing
(To preserve the format of the poem, we have made it available in a PDF document. Please click here to access.)
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