blog.

  • drowseportland:

    break

    alone,

    October, face in clouds lit by the moon

    August:

    salt water down my throat

    choke

    on wet heat at night– soft skin that’s been sundrenched

    November, she writes:

    “you became that for me, mixture of image/memory”

    ribbon of sleep

    slips through my hand

    four I’ve hurt this year; am I who I am?

    not as frail as you think;

    you’ll break me

    opaque and weak

    you’ll break me; we’ll break me

    April I wrote you, only person I got back to

    opaque and weak

    you’ll break me; we’ll break me