the moon leaves imprints
dusts of fairies
on my shoulder
tan lines from its bright saucy nature
that interior glow so reminiscent
of an atomic explosion
that blisters and scars
angry red welts
no rather
this is like the freeze the doctor uses
the rich dermatologists
burning out your warts
creating bruises
deftly shadowing the inner crooks of your arms
that light fails to reach
and is soft to the touch
of baby bottoms

Its like I was free
for about an instant, the split second only your best friend usually captures behind her aunt's old camera
but I was looking in a mirror, aware of every freckle, every eyelash, the tilt of my saucy bottom lip pink with childish lipgloss.
my bottom eyelashes were black like a dolls and I looked like I was looking up, yet I was looking straight ahead. Everything was tilted and my cheeks looked pink.
My face for once, not greasy, but glowing, slightly.  My hair looked longer and caught the light.
I saw myself the way I think you see me. The way I imagine I should be seen. But it was, for that second, like seeing a stranger, when I caught my reflection, at the store that afternoon.

I'm building these dreams
out of my dream houses
with its walls lined with bookshelves
(that you built me)
to hold my manuscripts of stories
(I wrote about us)
in its enchanting nooks and crannies
and open white spaces
with no walls between us
 some nights it tumbles
some nights the walls
and the noises of your music
wears me thin
and I cradle my head and wonder what I have gotten myself into again
then I slip inside my dream
and there you are
in real life
and its one and the same and I am thrilled
to be dreaming once again.

brooding tips and vellum amiss
we sit in pools of silken leather
cracked by winter
and salted by the summer leave
we last longer
and change colours
by time's metronome.

sometimes I wonder if my soul is sleeping in a city I've never set foot in
just aspects of my imagination
uncertain of whether this city even exists
or if its a remaining remnant of a real
long misunderstood
and little said beyond a few sentences
with a darkened moon
and a reddish sky
that reflects itself on clouded days inside my mouth
they play music there so quiet no one could hear
not high pitched like a mosquito
but the low rumbling of a plane halfway across the world
almost innate and interior
you can hear it with your body
as the musicians strike at strings so thick they could be the snakes from medusa's own head

this city is anterior
a figurative of a verb used in the past that is assumed to have happened
but not official
and this is where my soul lays?
not chained like a bird
or caged like a lion
but rather wandering
or leaving me wandering
soulless in another realm
incapable of even understanding the despair we clutch at
or the love we thrive from
and in this I believe I am lucky
sinless and free
to escape from the immobility that extreme emotion provides
and fleeing, desiring, reeling in the books that provide them for me.

CULT FOLLOWING
A CULT FORMING
A CULT CLOSING ITS DOORS TO OUTSIDERS
we have each other
and that is how it feels

everytime I move to take a sip of my tea
lemon seeds appear at my lips
This is disconcerting
because
This is how I feel my life is
all sweetness till the last moment
when a nasty seed appears