2091.

Pinked flesh, hungry and
flush under the push pull of
a needle strewn back.

2090.

Upside down, the day
plays its reversed emotions
for the dyslexic.

2089.

Word voyeur, lost to
soft sighs and shuddering breaths
intoxication.

2088.

If only clouds could
be beds, coming down to pick
up dreamers each night.

2087.

When they told you that
people were fragile, you saw
a chance to break them.

2086.

Possession is an
idea we keep confusing
for such enslavement.

2085.

You douse me in your
passion but then forget to
mind the low embers.

2084.

He coats his love in
pity and then laments the
tides as such sorrow.

2083.

His heart sometimes feels
like a black hole always set
to steady hunger.

2082.

Even anchors grow
weary as rust pries at their
exoskeleton.

2081.

You can't stage love on
the same set as betrayal
and call the play fair.

2080.

Everyone seeking
the new happiness without
noting the sheen's wear.

2079.

I remake your words
into dreams and then blame you
for those stars falling.

2078.

There are a million
stories in my blood, taunting
me with their distance.