830.

Yet another year
passing into the mirror
with wishes heavy.

829.

Today a gentle
cacophony of joy. I
live. So just love me.

828.

Can we ever find
escape from the ghosts in our
skin? Scars keep speaking.

827.

We are an ocean,
adrift and tumultuous,
seeking some anchor.

826.

No one will ever
match me as close as you do.
Bare skinned and beating.

825.

At least some comfort
to the love in need of its
illusions, intact.

824.

Bury me with my
puzzles so your version can
be reality.