One

pot of gold, poisoned apple, beanstalk. an unread message. how this kiss feels like the first. the birth of a stickman. how we begin. the line of an axis, where you and I intersect at the point of origin. a candle in a cupcake. a signature signal to leave some party and discover the favourite…

The Next Duchess

(A response to Robert Browning’s My Last Duchess)   My name is to be replaced with nine hundred years A gift, he declares, but my heart sinks along with it And that is just fine, says the messenger. Keep it down, and hold it up only when your face meets his. I face the mirror…

Grandparents

if this love was a sentence, he is the comma, she a period, waiting for it to end. he is ash, ink, autumn, frayed and decayed, yet unforgotten but she is a chalkboard dusty winter who cannot read ink so she cannot remember — Liyana Dizzy, 20 From the future: This was written under duress at my first…