Poems from canouthay
The space between our fingersis the color of your eyes at nightand my face when I notice.But also the first light of dawnand sticky, peach...
I’m having a hard time accepting I’m soft–soft stomach, soft heart,my soft way of telling othersI’m having a hard time.It leaves me...
My nail polish is chipping, andI wonder if the walls of myinsides are the same colorof sea greenbecause I feel a little sick,because I...
You can’t make people be the composition notebooks or fast food napkins
for you to ink with your tribulations, triumphs, and tittering...
Close your bedroom door and turn the light off
The sun is still peeking over the horizon
He wants to remember the faces of his admirers...