1790.

I burn from within
as each star turns dust when
galaxies reform.

1789.

Your voice is wrapped in
tongues and that mouth coated in
dreams. Love illusions.

1788.

I spend far too much
time forgetting things than I
do remembering.

1787.

If only knowledge
about love's intricacies
were ingrained from birth.

1786.

A lingering heat
to remind the earth of its
continuous turns.

1785.

The sky contorts and
upends itself to the ground
below. Offering.

1784.

His mouth pulses like
a tumor on my skin. Just
waiting to murder.