150.

And if I must
draw tulips
until I stop dreaming
about tulips

then my pen
will be to paper
until petals
fall from
my mouth.

149.

I would like

to weave

myself into
the sea

Where

is my human

heart?

147 & 148. Haiku: On becoming asexual after a devastatingly devastating (and mildly shattering) breakup.

The first erection
felt through my skirt at a bar:
Animal. Boring.

***

The blur of the fan
across my torso: I can't
make myself come, still.

146. Sun, sky, moon, stars.

I.

You were a poem
I could not keep writing,
each pen stroke a slice
to my fingertips.


II.

Loyalty, yes.
There's that.


III.

I am not an atheist
because I once dreamed
about my grandmother.
I was eleven and standing in the bathroom
brushing my teeth, she was crying,
and told me she was sorry.
The next day she was found
dead in her backyard
by my mother
who screamed so loudly,
we heard her next door,
across the peach and apple trees.


IV.

Nothing about this life
is what I expected.

145.

Please understand:
I am here
because it was
the only artery
I could find
that led away
from you.

144. The breath of the ocean.

come home
come home
come home.

143. On leaving you for the first time.

June.
Here, without being
romantic,
my things in boxes.