Morsel of fire-kissed stir-fried greens
Tossed, unmissed through clouds of steam
Hissed as they dished in the wok, has been
A familiar sight preceding my teens

Demeter’s calloused hands inch towards mine
I taste each fingertip in the golden dust that sprinkles my scythe
Her pitying reflection in each bead of sweat that rolls down my earth
Wetting its molten core.
You are a shadow oil that spills and spreads

Everyday I bleed on paper,
(It looks prettier that way.)

Here I present to you my blood,
Crimson seeping through sheets,
Spelling out words that stitch themselves into sentences,
That become paragraphs and poems.

cradled in the peak of an eclipse my breath capsizes into
the fray
a shuddering recognition of lost time

we sit back on the river rock letting the waves trickle between our toes
wrinkling our fresh skin into prunes

how did we get here?