A Poem on Love:
Love is the warm marrow of my bones, the embers made from the tree that grew in the palms of our linked hands.
Love is the feeling of stars placed in the cavity of my chest, plucked out of the black before their bloom of energy.
Love, the word, the breath, the inhale it takes and the exhales it spends to say, is something the flap of flesh in my mouth wants to say until it bleeds the same color as the velvet of my heart.
A Poem on Luck:
My skin needs to be embellished with the red domed shells of the ladybug beetle, so I reflect the light of luck into every path I take
my feet be that of a white rabbit, my keratinous snow keeping me warm from the cold that stings my bones
Light of the Divine, of the Blessed, be me in me.
Poem on Self Love:
sometimes I love myself
I love my soft and sharp parts
I love the concave of my neck
the wings of my pelvis
the folds and fruit
I’ll let it rot
Before you can ever get a taste
